A Test of the Magic of FanFiction
by Crossover Genius
Summary: Inspired by the wonderful work by: St. Fang of Boredom. This is an extreme test of the magic of FanFiction. Guaranteed Randomitude. Very many OCs and possible OOC. Play Format. Rated T just in case. Beatles.
1. Chapter 1

AN: the characters will be _sadly_ OOC. So if you obsess with this (and loads of peoples do) then don't read. Really. But if you like it when characters are put into awkward moments, then pray continue!!!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters: The Beatles. That would be slavery. I also have not obtained the rights to Twilight. So therefore, Edward and Bella are not mine, nor Maximum Ride or Harry Potter, all of which I reference directly in this story. I do own my OCs: Delilah, Camiron, Caryn, Andrew, Jailin, Robert, Caitlin, Mianda, Theadora, Steve, Greg, Rahchel, Rachel, Robyn, Skylar, and Tory, plus Jaclyn, Jackson and Jezebel. I would also like to claim Crossover Genius ('cos that's me)  
(Play Format)

Delilah: -skips merrily down a wooded path-

-Big poof-

John Lennon: -blinks- -adjusts glasses- -in Scouse British accent- who're you?

Delilah: Isabella von Frankenstein Rothschild

John: ah.

-Big poof with pretty smelling incense-

George Harrison: -stares at John- I thought you were dead.

John: -nods sagely- aye. But aren't you dead, too?

George: shit.

John: -nods sympathetically-

-Small poof-

Me: Ooooh! The Beatles –counts-

-Mega HUGE poof-

-Paul and Ringo appear-

-Whoa! They're not OLD! Sixties versions of the Beatles replace their oldness-

Me: wicked.

Paul: –To John and George-What're you doing here? I thought you were dead.

Ringo: I'm not dead. Why aren't you old?

George + John: dunno. –Look to Crossover for guidance-

Me: -looks at Delilah accusingly- you are abusing your powers of being a FanFiction Original Character, Delilah Whitney!

Delilah: well, yeah, but, St Fang of Boredom's OCs are much more involved!!

The Beatles: we're lost. Mind explaining?

Me: Yes.

Beatles: -elated-

Me: IF—

Beatles: -depressed-

Me: Say 'hello' and 'marvelous', please.

Beatles: Hello. Marvelous.

Me: -jumps up and down clapping hands like a gay-

John: why'd you jump up and down and clap your hands like a gay?

Me: my fanfic!!

John: -shakes his head confusedly-

Me: -shrugs-

Delilah: Crossover, why don't you tell a story to explain it all?

Me: hmmm…-thinks intently- AH! –Shocked shout-

Delilah: -worried- what?

Me: -sulks- no ideas…

Delilah: will this be randomness, then?

Me: sure.

Beatles: -glance at each other worriedly-

Paul: -what are we doing here?-

Me: -I'm not sure why you are here. Just thought I'd kinda have a party with all my fictional character friends…only you aren't fictitious…

John: on the contrary. You are keeping our language from becoming 'mature' rather than 'teen'. So in that way…we're kinda OCs based on real people.

Me: I'll never doubt the magic of FanFiction again—how'd you know all that?

Ringo: maybe a little birdie sang to him?

Me: -shrugs- who knows?

Delilah: who should we have in here, then, Crossover?

Me: dunno. That's why I haven't filled out my disclaimer yet. I'm waiting to see how random this can get…

Delilah: can we have more OCs?

Me: LET THERE BE OCs! Let's have: Camiron, Jailin, Steve, Greg, Caitlin, Rahchel, Rachel, Robyn, Skylar, Caryn, Andrew, and Tory…

Delilah: and Mianda and Theadora, I assume?

Me: chip off the ol' block, eh? Righto. Are there anymore?

Delilah: certainly.

Me: the poor people…I can't remember their names. Too bad I never write any of this down.

Delilah: What about Jaclyn, Jackson, and Jezebel from TwilightArchives?

Me: YES! And, of course, Jazlyn.

Delilah: this is gonna be great! What claimed characters do you want?

Me: Oh, I don't know. No Harry Potter, I can't write any of them…I can't write Maximum Ride very well either…I really only write Bella very well, from Twilight…

Delilah: she won't be happy if Edward doesn't come.

Me: Yeah, but my Edwards are always depressed. Mainly because in all the stories I don't post, Bella dies…

Delilah: right…

Me: what?

Delilah: I'm wondering where the Beatles got off to. There aren't any pushers around, are there?

Me: no, why? Don't answer that. Do you think you can talk Bella into it?

Delilah: I'll try.

-Small flash as Delilah disappears by the power of FanFiction magic-

Me: -looks around- I'm all alone…and now I'm talking to myself. –Sigh-  
John? Paul? George? Ringo? Yoo-hoo?! Where art thou?

-Nothing happens-

Me: damn.

-Huge tear in time occurs. All OCs from Past, Present and Future arrive.

Robyn: -points wand- …and I've had enough of your attitude, Harry Potter…oh. Hey, Crossover. What's up?

Me: I'm not entirely sure, to tell you the truth.

Robyn: well, at least you're being truthful. That brother of mine…why did my twin have to be such a pain in the arse?

Me: Sorry, Robyn, but I'm no good at writing Harry Potter POVs…or stories in which he must appear. This is why my stories mostly have OCs. I love you guys!!

Robert: well, we were in the middle of a concert…

Me: Oh! Gosh…

Robert: We've been stuck in between two songs for a long time, Crossover.

Me: I'm so sorry. Delilah…well, she just fit in much better…

Delilah: hey! Be glad you aren't part of two stories!

Me: you know I like you better in my original story, right?

Delilah: yeah…

Me: but the kick-butt dirt bike rider in The Tide Rises is still pretty awesome. It could be worse, right?

Delilah: yeah.

Me: -grins triumphantly-

-Huge BANG-

-Icesong and Cherryberrybug33 from TwilightArchives fall from the sky-

Me: Icesong?! Cherryberrybug33? Why are you guys on FanFiction…wrong site, you guys.

Icesong: not my fault, Crossover Genius. You were lonely. Besides, I come on here all the time to read St Fang of Boredom's Avian Bird Flu. And, of course, vjgm's Family Therapy.

Cherryberrybug33: Crossover? Since when…?

Me: Don't worry about it, Cherryberrybug. This is a FanFiction. In the Real World you will have no recollection of it…

Icesong: unless Crossover does the idiotic and impulsive and let you read it…

Me: I'm emailing this to you, Icesong, as soon as it's complete. So you'll get to see it.

Icesong: -chirps- Yaysies!

Me: you know what would be cool? If I could get St Fang of Boredom and Charmingal in here. Neither of them like Edward, so it shouldn't be too terribly awkward, right?

Icesong: -gasps-

Cherryberrybug: Who? Crossover, really, I'm so confused. Can't I go home and return my texts from Chari and Danielle?

Me: -greatly offended- you were the one who insisted we needed to hang out. This is hanging-outage.

Icesong: -"O" shaped mouth because she had been taken totally unawares! She hadn't realized Cherryberrybug33's distancing from Crossover, Icesong, JangoJangoMonkey, and abMonkey had really bothered her that much!!-

Me: fine. BEGONE! –Waves hands-

Cherryberrybug leaves behind the scent of cherry blossoms in her disappearing wake.

Icesong: wow.

Me: another good reason to become a FanFiction author, Icesong. Work on it over the summer, and one day, your commanding skills can one day be as awesome as mine—

Icesong: and…??

Me: the FanFiction universe will bend and twist to accommodate your ever changing images of what should, or shouldn't happen in a story, and how it will affect the universe around it…

Icesong: -bouncing in seat now-

Me: and your OCs will address you as your penname and be able to appear and disappear in your subconscious as they and yourself please, much as mine do now.

Icesong: No way.

Me: with amazing power, though, Icesong, comes amazing responsibility. But, always remember, with amazing responsibility comes undying loyalty and respect that borderlines on reverence.

Icesong: wow.

Delilah: Crossover, Bella won't come without Edward, are you sure you can't write him? They were kind of…er, busy, per say.

Me: Gross. Don't bother them…until…later. I can't write either of them like that…all love-y dove-y. Gag me.

Icesong: does this story hold an importance, Crossover?

Me: Yes, Icesong. It does. I can feel the purpose of this random thought, and the way it evolved into so much more than a simple one-shot. Albeit, any updates are unlikely, but if I get Charmingal from TwilightArchives on board and St. Fang of Boredom's blessing, perhaps we all could meet again in another test of The Magic of Fanfiction.

Icesong: -nods sagely-

Delilah: so, that's it, Crossover?

Me: Basically…we might have some liability issues with the converting of Paul and Ringo from their sixties back to their twenties, and hordes of Beatles fans might want to kill us over the "pusher" bit and for resurrecting George and John for such a trivial event as this…and of course, people are probably going to be a bit angered that this has practically no plot line and holds very, very little to the FanFiction regime…

Delilah: well, we'll worry about that later. Shall we send this to Icesong to see if she thinks it should be posted?

Me: I guess. She might not like the last bit where I seem this all-knowing overlord and her my royal subject…

Delilah: I'm sure she'll be happy to appear in one of your fanfics, Crossover. Why don't you ask her right now?

Me: Right! Icesong?

-Looks around-

-Icesong is nowhere to be seen-

Me: it would've been too convenient.

Delilah: God forbid anything be convenient in any of your stories.

Me: …

AN: what'd think? Did I succeed in randomitude?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: A Test of the Magic of FanFiction

DISCLAIMER: I do not own…well…I don't know how random this'll get…so I'll just put the disclaimer at the bottom…see you there!!!

Me:-sigh- I don't know why…

Greg: oh. My. God. That rhymed.

Me: what rhymed?

Greg: sigh and why

me: -looks over - oh! I see!

Greg: you didn't notice earlier?

Me: no.

Greg: oh.

Me: That rhymed again!! Ohmygosh!

Greg: -rolls eyes-

Me: and clouds rolled into the skies...

Greg: -glares-

Me: -sets off flares-

Greg: I'm out

-disappears in a flash of the Magic of FanFiction-

Me: without a doubt.

-The little drum beat that they play after really crummy jokes in the background-

Me: -beams-

Steve: my shirt ripped at the seams!

Me: I'm writing the next chapter to The Magic of FanFiction.

Steve: there was too much friction!

Me: SHUT UP!

Steve: I want some milk. Do you have a cup?

Me: BEGONE! -waves arms- -Steve disappears-

Me: finally. Silence.

-Silence-

Me: ah...

I don't want silence.

Delilah's gone as of right now. I took her with me to Albuquerque, New Mexico so I wouldn't get lonely…and I left her there.

And Steve died. We left him at a restaurant and he ran after the car…he was hit by an ambulance. Then, the other ambulance that came to save him…well ran him over. He's been reincarnated, but he hasn't exactly forgiven me for leaving him behind.

Delilah's all fine and dandy with it, though. She doesn't get attached to things like that. Steve was running, not after me, but a guitar pick.

-Sigh-

Delilah's going to take a few side trips. She should be back by next week. She's going to go and see my friend in Bedfordshire, and go to New York and go to the top of the Statue of Liberty, which is now opened to the public for the first time since 9/11.

Moment of silence for remembrance of that awful day.

…

…and we're back.

Camiron: there you are, Crossover.

Me: here I am.

Camiron: where exactly is…here?? There's, like, no scenery.

Me: yeah…I'm working on that. Last time I wrote we were on a wooded path…but I didn't bother to write in any locations.

Camiron: so…everything except for us…is white?

Me: well…yeah.

Camiron: wouldn't it be black, like blank space?

Me: ummm…no. See, I'm looking at the background of my Microsoft Word document…and it's white. So, that's what I'm seeing…that's what you see.

Camiron: okay. We, and I'm speaking on behalf of all your OCs, are worried for the next chapter.

Me: the next chapter?? Oh. No spoilers allowed. Speak code. Keep them guessing…

Camiron: okay…well, we are rather afraid that you'll see the truth…and down-size…your repertoire.

Me: not exactly top-notch anti-spoiler speak…but that's okay. Don't worry. I'm extremely one-sided. You and the other OCs have nothing to worry about.

Camiron: Okay…

Me: bored.

Camiron: alright. I'll leave you to your conversation with the Beatles…

Me: yay! I mean…you can stay. Just yay for the Beatles…

Camiron: ummm…its against my characterization.

Me: oh? Right. Okay. See you later, then.

Camiron: will I be in that Beatles crossover you're writing?

Me: you can be…

Camiron: alright. Maybe you can write me less…one sided?

Me: -laughs- I'll try.

Camiron: thanks.

-Camiron disappears by the Power of the Magic of FanFiction-

-The Beatles bleep into existence-

John Lennon: damnit. We're here again.

Me: would you rather be dead?

John: -mumbles- no.

Me: then be happy.

George: kinda drab, isn't it, Ringo?

Ringo: not drab…stark.

Me: add an –ey and you've got your name!!

Ringo: -raises eyebrow- nevermind. I don't want to know what you're talking about.

Paul: can't there be some sort of backdrop?

Me: fine. –thinks- ah! –waves hands-

-Standing on the crosswalk featured on the cover of Abbey Road-

Me: happy?

Paul: no.

Me: too bad, so sad. My fanfic.

John: so, any word of the next chapter being finished by Icesong85?

George: no. I've been watching everything Crossover's written, as you asked. Paul's been hovering in her sub-conscious.

Paul: no. She knows a little about what the chapter's going to be about, but other than that?

Me: about as much as I know about guitars.

Ringo: is that much?

Me: no. I know squat about guitars…

John: you made off with quite the guitar, though.

when I went to Albuquerque, my family voted that I should get one of my deceased uncle's guitars. So, I now have a guitar. It is an Ovation 1113 classical guitar. It is a discontinued version, and is without the pickup. I don't mind (or care). Considering I don't know what a 'pick-up' would do…anyways, I'm attempting to find someone do restring it for me (2 strings are unwound and it needs all new ones, anyways) and look over it to make sure it's in tip-top condition. One look over, and I play violin so I know a bunch about stringed instruments, and I could tell it's in great condition…but some things you can't see. So my cousin's boyfriend is all jealous and told us off because he thinks Arizona isn't humid in the summer, which it is, and was saying we needed a humidifier (which we will, to make him feel better) and was saying how if he had to choose one of the guitars it would've been that one…

So I got the guitar he wanted most. Oh, I'm so evil. No, actually I chose because it had a darker finish and it was super pretty (they all were, but I liked that one more).

Grossly enough, I also (accidently) ended up with my uncle's pitch pipe. It's like a whistle, but it has the pitch of different guitar strings and you use it to tune the guitar. So, I said that we should extract DNA via the residual saliva on the pitch pipe and clone Uncle Bill.

My mom didn't like that idea very much.

So, all in all, I got this super awesome, high-quality guitar, and I'm kind of excited.

George: that was weird.

Paul: talk about it.

Me: well, not everyone can hover on my sub-conscious. But I'd like to meet some people who could. Mind-readers are awesome.

John: and she thinks I went weird towards the end.

Paul + Ringo: you did.

George: I don't think he did.

Paul + Ringo: he did.

George: alright. Whatever.

John: -miffed-

Me: So. I'm going to take this time to mention some extremely talented FanFiction authors who I worship.

The all-time greatest Maximum Ride FanFiction author would be…St. Fang of Boredom, of New England!

The all-time greatest FanFiction Twilight Parody author would be…Charmingal, of England!

The all-time greatest best friend of mine who writes FanFiction would be…Icesong85, of Arizona!

The all-time greatest Sisters Grimm FanFiction writer would be…grimmgal!

The all-time greatest Harry Potter FanFiction writer would be…bookworm4231!

I would also like to mention that these are just of the FanFiction's I've read. Vjgm is also an amazing author, but don't read her stories while recovering from a cold, especially if you have a nasty cough. Laughter is the worst medicine in this case. Sparxflame is also hilarious.

Me: so now I've got to go take a shower.

John: you're leaving us here…to run this FanFiction chapter…by ourselves?

Me: yeah. Maybe play a song for your unsuspecting fans…

Paul: like what?

Me: I don't know. Something that everyone knows, something that was on a commercial for Target but everyone thinks the Jonas –gag- Brothers –gag- wrote.

George: what song is that?

Me: Hello, Goodbye, of course!!

Ringo: oh! I've seen that commercial!

John: and maybe some other stuffs…

Me: yes. I'll go shower. You four stay here and run this like I would.

Paul: ah, can we run it in a scarcely organized and logical manner?

Me: fine. Just don't out-do me. I don't want them to be dismayed when I'm back…

Ringo: oh, don't worry. Organized and Beatles aren't synonymous.

Me: That's good. See you at the end of the chapter for the disclaimer, everyone!!

-I disappear by the Power of the Magic of FanFiction. Only the Beatles remain-

John: George, conjure up two guitars. Paul, fetch your bass and Ringo, find yourself a drum kit.

-The Beatles carry out their orders. John uses the Magic of FanFiction to make amplifiers and microphones. They've been practicing their new skills-

The Beatles:

Hello, Goodbye

_You say yes, I say no,  
You say stop and I say go go go._

_Oh no  
you say goodbye and I say hello  
hello, hello  
I don't know why you say goodbye,  
I say hello, hello, hello  
I don't know why you say goodby,  
I say hello._

_I say high, you say low,  
You say why and I say I don't know, oh no  
You say goodbye and I say hello  
hello, hello  
I don't know why you say goodbye  
I say hello_

_Hello, hello  
I don't know why you say goodbye  
I say hello._

_Original Track released (p) 1967  
© 1967 Northern Songs Ltd._

Here Comes the Sun

_Here comes the sun  
here comes the sun and I say  
it's alright_

_Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter  
Little darling, it feels like years sings it's been here  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say,  
It's alright._

_Little darling, the smiles returning to their faces,  
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here  
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say  
it's alright_

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes  
sun, sun, sun, here it comes  
sun, sun, sun, here it comes  
sun, sun, sun, here it comes,  
sun, sun, sun, here it comes._

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting  
little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear  
here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say  
it's alright._

_Here comes the sun,  
here comes the sun  
it's alright  
it's alright_

_Original track released (p) 1967  
© 1969 Harrisongs Ltd._

Hey Jude

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
then you can start to make it better  
Hey Jude, Don't be afraid  
You were made to go out and get her  
the minute you let her under your skin  
then you begin to make it better._

_And any time you feel the pain  
Hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders  
for well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
by making the world a little colder  
da da da da da da da da_

_Hey Jude, don't let me down  
You have found her now go and get her  
remember to let her into your heart  
then you can start to make it better_

_So let it out and let it in,  
Hey Jude, begin, you're waiting for someone to perform with  
and don't you know that it's just you  
hey Jude, you'll do  
the movement you need is on your shoulders  
na na na na na na na na yeh_

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
remember to let her under your skin  
Then you'll begin to make it better, better, better, better,  
better, better oh  
Yeh, yeh, yeh, yeh, yeh, yeh, yeh, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da  
Hey Jude, da, da, da, da, da, da, da,  
Hey Jude_

_Original Track released (p) 1968  
© 1968 Northern Songs Ltd._

Ringo: we've done at least one of everyone's songs…

Paul: no. I wrote Hello, Goodbye.

George: one more then. How's about _Revolution_?

John: agreed.

Revolution

_You say you want a revolution  
well you know  
we all want to change the world  
you tell me that it's evolution  
well you know  
we all want to change the world  
but when you talk about destruction  
Don't you know that you can count me out  
don't you know it gonna be alright  
alright alright_

_You say you got a real solution  
well you know  
we'd all love to see the plan  
you ask me for a contribution  
well you know  
we are doing what we can  
but if you want money for minds that hate  
all I can tell you is brother you have to wait  
don't you know it's gonna be alright  
alright alright_

_You say you'll change the constitution  
well you know  
We all want to change you head  
you tell me it's the institution  
well you know  
you better free your mind instead  
but if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao  
you isn't going to make it with anyone anyhow  
don't you know it's gonna be alright  
alright alright_

_Original Track Release (p) 1968  
©1968 Northern Songs Ltd._

John: there we go. Fair's fair.

-instruments disappear-

-Crossover reappears-

Me: oooh! Good song choice!

Paul: thanks.

Me: and it was perfect, as per usual.

George: well, we've had a bunch of practice.

Me: yeah…I do listen to those songs too often, I guess. I'll listen to some different ones…or not. I'll just add some new ones in.

John: -rolls eyes-

Me: anyways, time for a disclaimer, which ought to be a sticky little bugger.

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles. That would be slavery. I also DO NOT OWN **_**Hello, Goodbye Hey Jude Revolution OR Here Comes the Sun. **_**The voiced opinions and ownership belong to the songwriter respectively. Except maybe Hey Jude and Hello, Goodbye, which might possibly maybe belong to Michael Jackson…so they wouldn't belong to Paul…but…well, they don't belong to me and that's that.**

Me: that ought to do it. I did mention where the copyrights belong and since when in the chapter. Northern Songs Ltd. Except _Here Comes the Sun_ which belongs to Harrisongs Ltd.

So technically, I (Crossover Genius) belong to me as does Camiron and that's just about it. :D Also, the idea is mine. :D

Peace and Love and Hugs and Review

Crossover Genius


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- Yay! More randomness to pollute the minds of young logic seekers! Read this at your own risk, but considering you've already gotten through the first chapter, this one won't do you much harm.

I should probably mention that I'm not Crossover Genius. I'm her slightly less insane best friend. This won't be as crazy as the last chapter. Only because I am horrid at writing happy randomness, even though I'm a happy optimist. I'll bring in my own cast of OCs that nobody has ever heard of. If this makes no sense, that's okay. It's 3 am and I'm tired despite my insomnia.

Disclaimer: Must fill in when later.

And so, we begin:

*I am reading contently on a random beach when I see something odd…*

Me: What the…?

-A fluffy poof of stars-

*A hoard of yellow squirrels comes rising from the ocean. Crossover is sitting criss cross applesauce on their backs*

Crossover: Oh, hey Icesong, I didn't see you there.

Me: How could you not see me here? I'm the only one on the beach. Plus, why the heck are you riding on a pack of yellow squirrels?

Crossover: Well, I'm renting them from Kirsten for ten dollars a month. They're magical!!

*The squirrels proceed to fly around and make sparkles with their paws.*

Me: 0.0...Alright then.

Crossover: Yep, they're pretty darn awesome.

*Insert awkward silence here*

Me: Wait, why were you in the ocean in the first place?

*Crossover stops humming and stares at me like it's totally obvious. Then she clears her throat importantly like she has been asked this type of question before.*

Crossover: Well, as you may have seen in my last chapter, my OCs are obviously jealous of each other. Most of them I have kind of forgotten, so there's some hatred going around.

*Randomly the Beatles poof in singing "All You Need is Love". They then poof out in incense filled smoke*

Crossover: As I was saying, my old OCs are mad at my new ones. They're on the brink of a civil war.

Me: They're fragments of your imagination. You're the only one making them have a war.

Crossover: That's completely beside the point. Anyways, I make daily rounds to visit each OCs. I visit Delilah in her awesome ocean paradise world in the summer months, then I visit Robyn for a bit, then Camiron, Caryn, Andrew, Caitlin, Jailin, Robert, Mianda, Theadora, Rahchel, Greg, Steve, Rachel, Skylar, Tory, and Jezebel, Jackson, and Jaclyn.

*As she says each OC's name, they poof onto the beach behind Crossover*

Me: Crossover I think you have OCD.

Crossover: Obsessive Cullen Disorder?

Me: No, Original Character Disorder.

Crossover: What! I am not obsessed with creating OCs!

*I glare at the twenty or so OCs that are glaring at each other*

Me: Right, sure you don't Crossover. I think it's time that we get you some professional help.

Crossover: *Dramatic gasp* you don't mean…?

Me: Yep, that's exactly what I mean!

*The beach scene poofs into an office filled with plush couches and etc.*

Crossover: Nooooooo! You can't leave me here Icesong! I'll die! I'm not insane! I swear!

*A therapist appears at a desk*

Therapist: Now, how does that make you feel?

Crossover: What does what make me feel? You people never talk any sense.

Me: Well, I better just leave you two to discuss your problems! Bye!

Crossover:Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!

*Poofs back onto the beach*

*Meanwhile, back in Therapy, Crossover (who has commandeered this chapter) is in, well, Heck...

Me (Crossover Genius): listen, lady, I'm not insane.

Therapist (whose name is Debbie, by the way): here, on your admission forms, it says that your…friend has the informed opinion of OCD.

Me: now, tell me, what was it that my friend called me??

Therapist: …Crossover Genius…

Me: now, if she is calling me such an absurd name as Crossover Genius, then who's to say that I'm the insane one??

Therapist: well…now, we mustn't point fingers…er…what exactly is your name?

Me: that's beside the point.

Therapist: well, no, it isn't. You know that my name is Debbie.

Me: oh, right. Well, how convenient, as far as you're concerned, my name is Debbie as well.

Therapist: that isn't really your name, is it?

Me: nope.

Therapist: -bangs head on table-

Me: you kill brain cells when you do that, you know.

Therapist: I'm about to kill myself. I've never, in my thirty years of assisting the mental cases of the world, had to deal with one as stubborn and needy as you.

Me: hey! Just because my mother is concerned and wants to send me to get a psycho-analysis doesn't mean you can poke fun!

Therapist: my exact point! Everything in your life points to the fact that you need help, and you choose, deliberately, to look beyond it. It is one thing to be optimistic and another to be foolish!

Me: Well. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm being like this to get on your nerves and give our wonderful readers a laugh?

Therapist: our readers?

Me: well, duh, TD, do you mind if I call you that? You are in a FanFiction. What do you think OCD stands for?

Therapist: -looks at papers. TD still looks a bit miffed about the TD bit- Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Me: -sigh- Debbie, Debbie, Debbie. Whatever are we to do with you?

Therapist: you could tell me what TD stands for.

Me: that was rhetorical. Not every question in the universe needs to be answered!

Therapist: -squeaks-

-All of my current OCs appear, ready to kick some Therapist butt…or at least give her Heck…-

Therapist: -screams 'bloody murder-

Camiron: you needed us, Crossover?

Me: yes, thank you so much, Camiron.

Jailin: can we whoop butt now?  
Me: no, Jailin. Let's play with our food first. Then we can go in for the kill.

Therapist: no! This can't be happening! My sanity…my precious sanity…-starts sobbing-

Me: oh, don't worry TD. This isn't your runaway imagination. It's all me. I just willed them into being.

Therapist: I don't even know what that means!!

Me: well, all I did was think them up. I characterized them fully in a story, then used a little FanFiction Magic…and POOF! This entire story was born. But the concept has been alive for years and years and years.

Therapist: no! Not that! TD!

Me: oh. Therapist Debbie.

Therapist: FREAK!

Me: no. I'm weird. Not freakish. Simple misconception. People mix it up all the time, don't worry about it.

Therapist: -sobs- -starts pulling out chunks of hair-

Me: hey, now, you won't appreciate that in the morning. Neither will your boyfriend.

Therapist: I'm MARRIED!

Me: oh. That makes it worse. Your husband won't like that. I mean, a professional hairdresser may be able to salvage it…but it might take years for it to return to it's natural thickness.

Therapist: you don't get it do you?

Me: apparently not. I look at the little things at life. I'm not very good at getting the big picture. See, I smell the roses…but I don't switch rose bushes. You dig?  
Therapist: no.

Me: ah. Too bad. Well, maybe the Beatles can help us out with this one. Hey, John! Can I borrow the four of you for a moment?

John: -disembodied voice from above- certainly, Crossover.

Paul: -ominous voice from above- you're rather fond of her, aren't you?

George: -snorts as an omnificent voice- you both are.

Ringo: -dido as the rest…don't have another word for it…- how about this? We all are. She's cool. Now, let's go and help her out.

John: -again, dido- yeah. I don't like this Therapist…

Paul: -I think you get it by now…- she's too…weird.

Me: -tearfully- you think I'm…normal?

George: umm…yeah. We've decided that you are normal. Everyone else are the wackoes.

Me: awww! You guys! Group hug!

Therapist: -screams- John Lennon's DEAD! How can he be talking! I'm hearing voices…I'm hearing voices…HELP ME!

John: hey! I wrote that song! Back off!

Paul: I think she's lost it.

George: definitely off her rocker.

Steve: hey, Paul, can I have an autograph?

-The Beatles faze into existence, standing beside me, in front of my army of OCs. There are 50 of them in all. Dragons, people, unicorns, pegasi, rabbits…etc.-

Paul: sure. –pulls Sharpie out of pocket and sign's Steve's white shirt-  
John: -tries to take a big whiff from Sharpie-

Me: -grabs Sharpie from John- Paul, John, George, none of you are allowed to use Sharpies. That goes for you, too, Ringo. Ringo, enforce it.

Ringo: -elated at his important role-

John: speaking of roles…

Beatles:

Help!

H_elp! I need somebody  
Help! Not just anybody  
Help! You know I need someone  
Help!_

W_hen I was younger, so much younger than today  
I never needed anybody's help in anyway  
and now these days are gone  
I'm not so self assured  
Now I find I've changed my mind  
I've opened up the doors._

H_elp me if you can I'm feeling down  
and I do appreciate you being round  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
won't you please, please help me?_

A_nd now my life has changed in oh so many ways,  
my independence seems to vanish in the haze  
but every now and then I feel so insecure  
I know that I just need you like I've never  
done before._

H_elp me if you can I'm feeling down  
and I do appreciate you being 'round  
help me get my feet back on the ground  
won't you please, please help me._

W_hen I was younger, so much younger than today  
I never needed anybody's help in any way  
and now these days are gone  
I'm not so self assured  
now I find I've changed my mind  
I've opened up the doors._

H_elp me if you can I'm feeling down  
and I do appreciate you being 'round  
help me get my feet back on the ground  
won't you please help me? Help me, help me ooh._

_Original Track released (p) 1965  
© 1965 Northern Songs Ltd._

Me: good show.

John: yeah. I was weird. The music came out of nowhere.

Me: the-

The Beatles: Magic of FanFiction, we get it.

Me: ooh. I've taught the Beatles something! –looks over at Debbie-

Debbie: -has an introspective look on her face-

Me: -idea light bulb appears above head- ah! Hey, Debbie.

Debbie: -comes out of trance and looks at me-

Me: do you want to be my assistant? At least until Delilah comes back?

Debbie: what do I have to do?

Me: help me review Saint's stories.

Debbie: sure. That doesn't sound too hard.

Me: thanks! I really need the help. Greg just gets me angry, and Camiron tries to get to the point too fast and Steve glares me down.

Debbie: those are three of…fifty.

Me: yeah, well, I don't see the big picture half the time. It has to be lain out for me. Perhaps I'll start using more of them…

Debbie: so I'm off the hook?

Me: no! I need you to help me advertise my story to Saint!

Debbie: after that?

Me: yup. I dub thee, a Crossover Genius OC!

Debbie: -whispers to Ringo- is that a good thing.

Ringo: hopefully. We all are one.

Crowd of OCs: We Are One.

Me: -beams-

DISCLAIMER: (since the one above wasn't filled in…) I (we??) do not own The Beatles. Also, we do not own Kirsten's Yellow Rabid Squirrels. I only rented them from her. :D Ten dollars a month isn't a very good bargain…but…  
anyways, I do NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT own Help! It was a Lennon-McCartney original. According to the copy-right in the booklet that came with the CD that has the lyrics (this is what happens when you give Crossover song lyrics) it is copyrighted by Northern Songs in 1965. So, I'd go to them for a hostile takeover. Not saying you'll beat me to it, but whatever.

AN: well…that's what happens when Icesong sends me the incomplete chapter and asks me to finish it for her.

This is Crossover Genius and Icesong85, signing off for now. Until next time!!

Review, review, and REVIEW!! Erm…and if anyone knows what happened to all the Beatles songs rights Michael Jackson had possession of…could you let me know?? Thanks!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome to yet another chapter of A Test of the Magic of Fan Fiction! I'm your host, Crossover Genius, and this is my wonderful assistant…-drum roll- Delilah!**

**That's right, Delilah, folks! Delilah realized that I really needed her help and that my sanity was slowly declining…that's right getting worse than usual!! So, anyways, this is what Delilah has to say about the Kristen Stewart as Max and Robert Pattinson as Fang fiasco:**

**Delilah: **Okay, here's the thing, Hardewicke, and I'll tell it to ya straight up? You've got some nerve wanting to screw with this series of books. I loved Twilight with my whole heart and soul until I saw the movie. It shattered EVERYTHING. So, I stocked all my faith into Maximum Ride--and this is what I get for undying faith to an amazing series of books? I mean, c'mon. You've got to be joking. It's just gross. We need NEW faces. Heck, I'll dye my hair and show up at an open audition tomorrow. Tell me when and where. I'll upstage K. Stewart any day. She is 1) too serious to play Maximum Ride 2) not serious enough to play any character in any movie 3) absolutely an awful actress. Don't even get me STARTED on Robert Pattinson. I will say this, though. When people say Rob's the 'hottest/sexiest guy on the planet' it's because they correlate him with Edward Cullen. We DO NOT, I repeat NOT for emphasis, want our beloved Fang to be correlated with a vampire, much less Edward.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! God help us if they are casted. Jimmy P!! Help us! Your fans are dying over here! Help! Help! Help!

So this is our rewards for undying loyalty and love?? A crummy movie? Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson have been corrupted by their instantaneous super-stardom.

PLEASE sign **St. Fang of Boredom's petition **at:

**. **

(You can copy and paste that or go to Saint's profile here on for a link to it)

To keep Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart out of the roles of our beloved characters. This **petition was acknowledged** on . An **official Maximum Ride fan site** where **James Patterson has been known to blog**, **along with the entire Flock**. It was **mentioned on Max's blog** (yes, OUR Max)

**Help Stop the Madness**

PS Once the signatures reaches 1000, I'm gonna try emailing it to the Whitehouse...maybe Obama's daughter's signatures would look snazzy...

Me: wow. You had quite a lot to say.

Delilah: eh. –shrugs- not my fault you don't want to admit to trying to sign twice

Me: I would if I could…

Delilah: isn't that illegal?

Me: it's over a movie, for Christ's sake!

Delilah: ah, but are you not crying because you are so angry about it?

Me: -mumbles- yes.

Delilah: Hmmm…I've never known you to be this emotional.

Me: huh?

Delilah: yeah. It's kind of weird.

Me: what about when Icesong took me to therapy?

Delilah: -gasped shout- you went to therapy?!

Me: oh, right, I haven't told you that yet…

Delilah: I think this chapter should be short. We need to talk.

Me: I suppose you're right. I'll probably write another chapter today, maybe, maybe not; probably later tonight when I'm loopy from sleep deprivation.

Delilah: you do need to sleep more, and on a regular schedule

Me: oh, stop chiding.

Delilah: -as Crossover and Delilah start walking away from news desk at which they'd been seated to the off stage area- what's this about John Lennon??

AN: okay, I know it was short. But it actually had purpose to it.

DISCLAIMER: (you can expect to see them at the bottom for now and forever more) I did not write St. Fang of Boredom's petition, though I do believe in every point that Saint wrote in the petition. I do not uphold many comments made by any or all (and whether I agree or not is my own business) of the 780-some undersigns. Though, I very much agree with Delilah, considering she's (to quote Icesong) a "figment of my imagination". Lol.

Anyways,

Peace and Love and Hugs and Reviews!!

Crossover Genius and Icesong85


	5. Chapter 5

Soooo…my chapter posted earlier today was rather short, wasn't it??

I'm posting another! And asking Icesong85 to go ahead and write another chapter whenever she feels like it, but otherwise I'll just write and update and post and write and update and post and update and post, etc. to my little heart's desire. Also, I'm going to bug Saint and see if she would like to write a chapter…which, of course, as far as I know, she's been reading this…and really, no one else has, so I don't know why I bother…

Oh, okay, I do. I LOVE being random. Random. Random. Random. I like Saint's stuffs because it's like my stuffs but with plot lines and points that she's trying to get across…and mine…well, last chapter I cut it short because I couldn't stand to have a plot line or a point that I was trying to get across.

So…see you at the bottom for the disclaimer!!

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(There's a line up there. ^)

Delilah: and who's Debbie?

(Delilah and I are sitting in my bedroom, and I'm filling her in of everything that's been going on while she was away. So far, after 30 minutes, she's only just finished her list of interrogations. Now, I had to answer her questions.)

Me: Do you want me to start at the beginning?

Delilah: you had better.

Me: yes, ma'am.

-Beatles randomly poof in singing "Tomorrow Never Knows"-

Delilah: no. you are staying put and explaining. Once you are finished, then maybe I'll let you go listen to your beloved Beatles music. And, by the way, people will probably stop reading if this continues to circle around the Beatles.

Me: -heartbroken- b-b-but-t I wuv John, Paul, George and Ringo!

Delilah: you need to show some sort of self-control…and retain some sort of dignity…

Me: -put off- What about Saint and Fang? People read her stories because of that!

Delilah: that's different. –her voice is kinder now seeing that her comment had really stung-

Me: -sigh- alright.

Delilah: it's okay for them to pop in and out singing songs, but it's not okay for this to be a Crossover Genius fulfills her wishes of meeting the Beatles. This is a test of the magic of FanFiction. You've proven that you are capable of resurrecting George and John, effectively turning back the clocks for them all and returning them to their 20's, and reuniting the Beatles.

Me: you make me sound real accomplished.

Delilah: yes…

Me: -lies back on bed, with my feet on the pillows…as always…- -yawns- you're so nice…

Delilah: you wrote me that way…

Me: -yawning still- I dunno who You is, but I sure like the way they write.

Delilah: -unperturbed by my sleep deprived ramblings, she gets it all the time- that's right. Sleep now. Everything will be all better in the morning. Maybe you could write a sensible chapter for this story? Maybe work with your beta and get another chapter of The Potter Twins up, and write a quality chapter for The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls?

Me: uh-huh…-yawn- -eyes close- remind me to do that in the…mornin' –snore-

Delilah: -carefully gets off the bed and leaves the room, pulling the door closed without latching it-

-DELILAH'S POV-

From Crossover's thoughts, I got everything I needed. Now, you may all be looking at my interrogations thinking, "golly! Crossover sure is smart! Talking her way outta that! And, boy, is that Delilah stupid! Falling for that!".

I'll have you know, I've been to law school.

Harvard, actually.

I graduated high school when I was 15.

Read it, and weep.

Anyways, Crossover told me by her thoughts what had happened while I was gone. I'd been in her subconscious as she slept while I was gone. I would never leave Crossover alone to fend for herself. She'd die. Steve used to be real good about staying with her during the day, so I could have some free-time, and I'd take the night shift, but ever since she forgot him at that restaurant…well, he most definitely has not forgiven her for that one.

I should've gone with them. All well, live and let live, right?

Steve: live and let die is the song title.

Me (Delilah): yeah, well, did you see the emotional state in which Crossover was when I returned. She went to therapy, for Christ's sake! Can't you see the emotional strain this caused her?

Steve: no…

Me: and all you cared about was that stupid guitar pick! You have a jar of 1,112 guitar picks at home, but God forbid you only have 1,111!

Steve: -cowers- I'm sorry!

Me: you had better apologize to EACH AND EVERY OC right now and in the morning…I won't be here.

Steve: you. Are. Abandoning. Crossover.

Me: NO! I didn't get anywhere! I was about to leave Albuquerque when I realized what a sorry state things were in here! I want you and all her favorites to keep her afloat, you hear?

Steve: yes. Now, I don't intrude on Crossover…well, I did once…and I caught her at a bad time…I'll never look at her the same again. Never.

Me: STEVEN RANDALL! I'm going to tell Crossover on you! She'll have to wipe that from your memory! This'll be a huge inquiry…-continues ranting about how much trouble he just caused-

Steve: -desperate- No! don't tell Crossover! She already thinks I'm a sexist pig!

Me: well, she certainly is correct!

Steve: -on both knees begging- please?

Camiron: whoa, Steve! I didn't know you were going out with…oh. Julian's not going to be happy.

Steve: it's not what you think!

Julian: what won't I be happy…about…

Me: Julian! NO!

-Julian attempts to disappear with the Magic of FanFiction, but since Delilah is the CG OC President, she overrides his attempt to tap into the seemingly endless well of Magic, and stops him-

-Delilah explains everything that has happened…if you've forgotten already…wow. Just wow.-

Me: see, Julian?

Julian: alright. Well, c'mon Camiron. We should go assemble the OCs. It sounds as if Steven has caused us all a lot of trouble. Delilah never would've allowed Icesong85 to get away with it!

Me: thanks, Julian!

Julian: -kisses Delilah on cheek- see you later, love!

Me: alright, bye!

-Julian and Camiron fade away with a progressive chord on a guitar wavering in their wake-

Me: Steve, listen, I'm sorry…I really blew my top back there.

Steve: no, you're right. I've been totally out of line.

Me: -smiles weakly- we'll be more careful on how we get characterized, right?

Steve: yeah, this is a dangerous story.

Me: -laughs-

Steve: do you still want me to apologize?

Me: yeah, I think you should. Don't you think it'll make you feel better? Just explain that you are sorry that you've been a jerk and impossible to be around lately.

Steve: wow, so self-depreciating I'll sound.

Me: oh, just go do it! –pushes Steve-

-Steve disappears by the Power of the Magic of FanFiction-

So I sat down on Crossover's fireplace. Since this all takes place in Crossover's 'happy place', it is winter all year long. So she can wear jeans and long sleeved shirts and have a good reason for not being tan and not going outside, and she likes having a fireplace and really likes reading books by it, and you just can't read a book in the summer by a crackling fire in Arizona.

So, I curled up with a book, The Outsiders, which Crossover Genius had suggested to me. Two-Bit and Soda Pop had been her inspiration for Steven and Gregory.

LINE

AN: Okay, so I didn't write it all…Crossover's still sleeping. I wonder how long it's been since she slept? Judging by her chapter content…a very long time.  
Anyways, Delilah, signing off for now.

DISCLAIMER: Crossover Genius does not own the Beatles, as she believes that would constitute as slavery which is illegal in the United States of America and most other parts of the world. She would also like me (Delilah) to mention that she would be eternally grateful of St. Fang of Boredom if slavery were ruled illegal in all parts of Future Canadia (which she is all for). Also, she does not have the rights to "Tomorrow Never Knows" as that is a Lennon-McCartney Original, etc, etc, etc, and doesn't belong to her anyhow.

Peace and Love and Hugs and Reviews,  
Delilah Whitney

PS yes, Crossover, I did just steal your siggy!!


	6. Chapter 5ish

**A Test of the Magic of FanFiction**

**Hereby titled: Crossover Genius really probably should have taken the therapy sessions…**

**Disclaimer-ness: see below**

**LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE**

**(It appears as if there is a line up there…I don't know for sure, though)**

Chapter…5, I think…

Crossover: soooo…what do you want me to write about?

My Conscience: how about…-whispers a great plot for a one-shot all inclusive with this story-

Me: No way! That's…golly; I wish I'd thought of that.

My Conscience: you did.

Me: wait…no way. I totally did.

**If I were a talk-show host…**

Paul McCartney: -sadly, he isn't in his twenties…but, I'm not sure how exactly I got clearance to have a full time job…and on television. My mother definitely wouldn't approve of that. Well, she doesn't approve of this, either, but she doesn't need to know…right?

Me: And welcome to the first ever airing of the new NBC Original Series, A Test of the Magic of FanFiction! Our first guest ever is Paul McCartney.

Paul: they told me this was David Letterman

Me: do I _look _like David Letterman?

Paul: no

Me: exactly. I'm Crossover Genius, your host, and this is all based on the dream I had last night!

Paul: you…dreamed about me?

Me: -nervous laugh- let's move on, shall we.

Paul: no, seriously. That's really—

Me: -cover's Paul's mouth- so, I'm writing this during a lightning storm. It was pouring rain earlier, and still is. Of course, it probably isn't wise to be writing during a storm…but…

Paul: -screams- HELP!

Me: -pushes Paul into chair-

Paul: -franticly fighting to get free-

Me: Now, I would like to take this moment to thank the amazing authoress that is St. Fang of Boredom, for having me in her 41st chapter of Avian Bird Flu, in which I review of Fang's blog as such –sings- La la la la la la la la!

Crowd: -applauds-

Paul: -makes a break for it-

Me: -dives after Paul-

Delilah: -slaps me-

Me: Hey!

Delilah: this isn't like your dream at all!

Me: based on. It isn't verbatim

Delilah: how do you reckon that one out?

Me: well, the dream was that I was a talk show host and I interviewed Paul McCartney.

Delilah: why is it that when you consciously contemplate this scenario, you end up trying to take him hostage.

Me: I was just thinking that Saint had something going for her, having possession of Fang.

Delilah: well, you should've taken George. He'd have gone without complaint.

Me: well, maybe later. Let's move on to another scenario, alright?

Delilah: fine.

**If I Were a Newspaper Reporter…**

Me: Mr. McCartney, what are your views of what has transpired here?

Paul McCartney: get away from me! HELP! –all out sprints in the opposite direction-

Me: No! Wait! I MUST cover this story! Come back! –runs after Paul-

Delilah: I think he remembers you.

Me: nah, I think it was all just a bad dream.

Delilah: -shakes head- you just want _him_ too much

Me: I don't _want_ him. That sounded dirty.

Delilah: you have a dirty mind

Me: shh. I like to pretend I don't. –smiles innocently at mother as she walks behind me-

Delilah: well, perhaps you should try a different Beatle as a hostage.

Me: Or I could as MY version of the Beatles if they'll be my hostages.

Delilah: good luck with that

-The Beatles, as you know them from previous chapters, appear-

Me: yay! John, can I hold you hostage?

John: will I be fed?

Me: yes.

John: okay. Maybe I won't have to pay taxes.

Me: Yay! George, will you be my hostage?

George: I'd rather maintain my originality and say no because I don't want to seem as if I follow after John.

Me: alright…I'll put you down as a 'yes'

George: I said no!

Me: I was asking you out of pure consideration. I'm gonna take all of you under custody whether you like it or not, you may as well get used to it. Hey, where's Paul gone?

Ringo: he read over what you've been typing, muttered Mother Mary, help me, and left all mission-impossible-like.

George: no. It was more James Bond.

John: oh, George, did you ever find you 007 shirt?

George: why, yes, John. I'm wearing it right now.

John: -looks sorrowfully at his own boring, white t-shirt and wistfully at George's awesome 007 shirt-

George: -growls- mine.

John: -innocently- I wasn't going to try and steal it…

Ringo: a likely story…

Me: well, I work on finding Paul. –Taps head- he must be up here somewhere…

LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE

(Did you notice my line? I probably should give this a rest…or it will become cliché)

**If I Were a Secret Agent…**

Me: -runs across hallway with finger-gun pointed downward. Ducks behind trophy stand holding a very expensive looking vase. Peeks around corner-

Agent Delilah: -shadows me and thuds against the wall next to me-

Me: shhhh!

Agent Delilah: sorry, Agent Crossover. I didn't mean to. I just thought you'd like to know I was beside you.

Me: shhhh! –whispers- our lives could be at stake here!

AD: (not Annul Domini [Year of the Lord, aka After Death] but Agent Delilah. It's too long to type out) really?! What is our mission?

Me: -opens mouth to explain-

-scene closes for commercial break. Not that I like leaving you hanging or anything. Tune in…well, the next time I update, for an update on Delilah's and my progress in the mission-

LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE LINE (etc.)

R&R

**If I Were St. Fang of Boredom…**

My story would be reviewed many times…-sad face- so sad. Well, I'd like to thank Saint very muchly for her continued reviews. Makes me smile very muchly. What's not making me smile very muchly is the fact that my computer refuses to accept the fact that I make up words and to stop spellchecking me…darn you, technology!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles…yet. Well, actually, I kinda own John 'cos he just sold himself to me for tax evasion and food. Paul, on the other hand… I'll get him though. Don't you worry.

Oh, and happy 40th anniversary to the Apollo 11 mission, when man first stepped foot on the moon. We have 3 more hours of it and then we can celebrate the 40th anniversary of the day _after_ the Apollo 11 mission. Personally, I think that day was more significant.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Test of the Magic of FanFiction**

**Chapter 7**

**Hereby Titled: A Continuation of the Last Chapter in Which it Was Made Clear that I, Crossover Genius, Definitely Needs Therapy and Should've Taken it but I Don't Usually Think Things Through Very Well and This is No Different.**

**Summary: me and Delilah on our secret mission to get Paul McCartney safely inside my basement with John Lennon, George Harrison (he caved…tax evasion was just too good to be true) Michael Jackson (he was jealous) and Elvis Presley and the occasional John F. Kennedy as we party it up and have fun not paying taxes! And don't worry, John's being fed.**

-Mission impossible theme-

Me: -dives into kitchen and elaborately rolls towards the arched doorway leading to the den where I could hear him banging on the piano-

Delilah: -through the Arcadia doors, flashes elaborate hand signals telling me it was clear to go, when she perfectly well could have just flashed me the "okay" sign and this would be just that much less drawn out…but like Delilah said in Chapter 1, God forbid anything to be convenient in your stories-

Me: -walks into room silently and casually-

Paul: -Back to the 20-year-old version that I made up.- - Looks up, sees me, and goes right back to playing, not even noticing me-

Me: -tip toes across room and slides onto the piano bench, next to Paul-

Paul: -looks at me again-

Me: -smiles menacingly-

Paul: -dives for safety-

Me: -grabs Paul's ankles-

-We flash into my basement by the Power of the Magic of FanFiction-

John: -announces- Paul's joined us

George: where's Ringo?

Me: I've sent Delilah after him. That was part of…-dramatic pause- the plan.

Paul: -sulkily- now that I'm here, what do you want me for?

[Slightly above T rating here…younger audiences are suggested to close their eyes and skip down to where I mention that the slightly above T rating is over. Or, if you want to be scarred for life, continue reading, but don't say I didn't warn you!]

John: an orgy!

Ringo: -appears- An orgy!! –Is very excited-

JFK: -leaves, muttering something like "a disgrace to this country" or something to those degrees-

Michael Jackson: -moon walks-

Me: -is very shocked-

Elvis Presley: -laughs-

Me: no. absolutely not. This is rated T. Go to A Hard Day's Night and chase after your orgy's there.

[End of higher than T rating moment]

Crowd in Basement: -is very let down-

Greg: damnit.

Steve: -nods in agreement-

Camiron: sorry, Crossover. I'll remove them from your hair.

Me: -touches head- they aren't on my head…

Camiron: a figure of speech, of course.

Me: ah. –Nods-

Camiron: -grabs Steve and Greg's arm and removes them from the scene-

Delilah: -appears- now what, Crossover. You have the Beatles hostage, you are partying with Michael Jackson and Elvis Presley and the occasional JFK. What now?

Me: I dunno. I'll figure it out later…

DISCLAIMER: NOT! –laughs- 487 words isn't enough for a chapter! Soooo…I'll just have us party and…ummm…I don't know. I didn't think this out so well. See, I was kinda bored of chasing after Paul. He was supposed to get away again, and I'd chase after him for the rest of the chapter…but…

Ummm…

I could start a random story that won't go anywhere? I like to do that.

Alright.

_I stared at the screen in disbelief. I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing. There was no way that St. Fang of Boredom would put me in one of her chapters! But, alas, she had! There, blatantly obvious on the screen before me was my name in her chapter. I continued staring and let it all sink in. Then, I screamed. I screamed so loud I was grateful I was home alone because even that sort of scream would appear weird to my family, who are quite used to me freaking out like that but on a smaller scale every other ten minutes. Then, I called my friend, Icesong (who wrote chapter 3 and sent me to therapy [that rhymed]) but she didn't answer. Her phone was off. So, I sent her an email. But she wasn't on the internet. So I sent her a text to call me. So, finally, four days later, once I got a reply from her, it was too late and the novelty of being included in one of Saint's stories had blown over. If she'd only answered her phone…I'd still be babbling incoherently about it…_

True story, that. Chapter 41 of Avian Bird Flu. –blissed-out look-

-Sigh- That didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would… we are only at 761 words now. So, I'll go ahead and write the world's longest run-on sentence.

Ready?

Set?

Go!

There once was a little boy who like cheese more than was healthy for him and this small boy had a lisp that was less that adorable as lisps go and his uncle who was a connoisseur of the cuss words was visiting and said uncle was kind of drunk and the little boy asked if the uncle wanted to see his pirate ship but his lisp caused him to say "pile of shit" and the drunk uncle said in disbelief "do I wanna see your what?" and went over to investigate and when it turned out to only be a mispronunciation he laughed for a few hours and then every time we see him, he still looks at my little brother, laughs and says "pile of—" and that's as far as he gets because he is laughing so hard at this point and Michael, the cheese eating boy wonder, looks at my uncle like he's crazy because he doesn't remember this specific occurrence that keeps coming up in conversation and he isn't sure why we all laugh at him when it does come up.

That sentence was 186 words long…I'm pretty sure that's not grammatically correct…

But, all well…this needs to be longer…

I'll just talk at you.

Well, I have some favorite YouTubers I'd like to share with you all.

Livelavalive is absolutely hilarious

Smilingsquirrels is hilarious as well. She's also my best friend.

Ho hum. I promised I wouldn't do more random songs

That rhymed too!! Anyways, I think 1,045 is enough for now. I'm not having writer's block, I'll write something totally random later.

DISCLAIMER: I now do own the Beatles since John Lennon sold himself to me for tax evasion and free food and George came along 'cos he doesn't like paying taxes either (see Taxman by the Beatles if you don't believe me)and I took Paul hostage and Ringo came thinking there was an orgy to attend because John had to be immature…I don't own Michael Jackson, and don't particularly want to I just want to learn how to moon walk and I'm not livelavalive or smilingsquirrels and I'm not entirely sure that either one of them mind having themselves mentioned in here or not, but they're going to appear whether they want to or not and this is turning out to be quite the run on sentence itself, isn't it?

128 words, that was.

My condolences to Saint. –Hugs-

Crossover Genius and John Lennon who won't let the orgy bit drop…


	8. Chapter 8

Delilah: -smugly- soooo…Crossover…why haven't you updated in so long?

Me: the internet in my bedroom stopped working. –Is very sad-

Delilah: really? That's too bad…

Me: shut up.

Delilah: -disappears-

Paul: -appears- are you alright?

Me: -acidly- no.

Paul: -starts backing away- alright… -disappears-

John: -appears- Hey, Crossover…can I borrow—

Me: one more word, Lennon and I scream rape.

John: -closes mouth quickly- -leaves-

George: -appears- -is meditating- Ooooommmmmmmm….ooooooommmmmmmm…

Me: -scowls-

George: -shimmers away leaving a cloud of incense in his wake-

Me: -sits moodily on wall separating beach from boardwalk-

I don't know why I'm in a bad mood. I've got no reason to be in a bad mood. Must all my attempts at being funny fail miserably, along with the internet on my laptop refusing to open so that I am forced to locate my long lost FlashDrive and update on the home computer and fight my way through my brothers to get at it? –Scowls-

And, on top of that, when trying to make an account of they don't recognize my email "as a valid email address". A note to you all: if you have a Gmail account as your primary email, don't expect to join anytime soon.

And, above that, it certainly doesn't help that on the administrators recognize your email, but informs you that an administrator will be activating my account shortly BUT you don't hear from them in what has been over a month at this point.

And since you aren't supposed to have the following accounts but do anyways,

Twitter

Max-Dan-Wiz

YouTube

You can hardly get on for the fear of your extremely overbearing mother finding out. AND you worry for your life because somehow your grandmother got the address to your stories and are reading them and they aren't exactly what she believes goes through my head and is penned out in ink on the computer screen and posted on the internet. –Gasps for breath-

I'm screwed.

See that, right there? If she were to read this…

I've told her that they were all "stuck" and I couldn't think of anything else and "wrote myself into a corner" and other stuff like that that made her feel sorry for me when I really am writing a whole bunch, it just isn't the stuff I'm quite ready to throw at the world, self-confidence wise and now I'm starting to rant and this isn't good and it's totally straying away from my idea of what I was going to sit down and write but it certainly feels nice to just unrestrained rant about how totally suckish my life is and how much better I believe it could be. It isn't fun to be square just because your parents just "can't see you in" shorts that are any shorter than knee length and straight leg jeans. I'm about ready to just curl up and die.

Scratch that. Icesong, I don't need the Suicide Hotline. As the Head Lunatic of the Travelling Asylum, American League, it is in my job description to steer all of my asylumees from "professional" help and help them through their tough times with someone who can relate to all their troubles. But the one thing that I may never, ever do is accept any mental analysis or therapy. I would be impeached immediately and smilingsquirrels of YouTube and Mr. Kinsman of 6th grade science would be required to run the asylum and I would be put to death.

So, I accepting help now would be committing suicide in a very real sense. And anyways, I need some sort of establishment, albeit a fictitious one, where I am in total and complete control.

Not that I've thought this out or anything.

Actually, I'm quite pleased to say that I have officially detained Jeremiah Christ. Well, not really. I told his sister to change her password. I honestly can't believe she didn't do that to start with…

-Shakes head-

-Slips off wall and walks towards ocean-

I'm off. I'll write more in the morning. I'm too lazy to go back after I upload it on FanFiction and place a line here 'cos my computer is idiotic and it doesn't transfer with the content and please pretend there is a line here. Or, if you want, you can enjoy a message from our sponsors…

/Line goes here/

So much for writing in the morning. I should have…I was in a good mood this morning but it has officially soured because my mother is forcing me to listen to Hootie and the Blowfish. I'm mean, seriously. I can understand being called the Beatles. Beat+les=Beatles. Has anyone ever even heard of Hootie and the Blowfish? And I'm about to puke my guts out…it's pure torture. It. Is. Awful. –Gags-

I want my Beatles…-sniffles-

My dad told me that if I ran into Paul McCartney at a grocery store and grabbed his wrist and started dragging him home with me so he could go down into the basement and chided him for leaving the basement in the first place his bodyguards would pin me down on the floor and Paul would file for a restraining order. I don't think so. Opinions?

-Hums aimlessly-

-Bangs head on wall- This is some of the worst music in the _**whole freaking universe**_. This is awful. I'm going to start crying. I'll have to listen to Beatles music for hours to rescue my sanity…

-Hyperventilates-

Honestly. If you want to kill Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr tie them up in a room, back to back, stick socks in their mouths and play this CD really loud. They'll simultaneously combust because of the bad music. It's a disgrace. I no longer pride myself with being a musician because of this. If you heard it, you'd believe me.

And if you happen to be a diehard Hootie and the Blowfish fan, you've never heard any other music. Ever. These guys have nothing on Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers (both of whom suck).

I almost thought it would be good 'cos it was creative and had a dobro in it. I was like, no way. And now I'm hearing it…

The poor dobro.

I'm going to go and say that making Fang listen to this would make him cry. It is a) creative and b) true because it could get anyone to cry.

And my mom _likes _this stuff. No wonder she doesn't enjoy the Beatles…it makes this look bad…

In other news, my guitar will be strung on Saturday. Unless there is a conflicting event, in which case it will be postponed to a later date. That wouldn't be fun. Anyways, I will be learning how to string the guitar in the process and I won't have to wait a depressingly long time. You know, I've had the guitar for nearly a month.

I've been writing this story for nearly a month. That's amazing. I guess the fact that it allows me to write whatever the heck I want to write when I want to write it allows me some leeway and I am capable of sticking to it longer than I normally would because I am easily distracted and I suspect ADHD or ADD because Attention Deficit Disorder would explain a lot because I tend to be distracted—

Hey, look, the CD is almost over!

Only one more to go! –Sobs-

I've asked Icesong very nicely to write another chapter. –Flashes puppy dog eyes in Icesong's general direction-

I've also promised more of a lull between random renditions of Beatles songs in the chapters…it does fill up the chapter rather well, and it's always fun typing up the copyright.

Talking about Beatles music and copyrights, Michael Jackson willed the Beatles songs he had possession of (basically all of the one's Paul wrote) to Paul but due to the extreme debts he was in (if you are wondering, thinking "gosh, he's Michael Jackson! He didn't have debts." Here's you answer) due to his having a private theme park (Neverland) they will most likely be auctioned off and given to the highest bidder. Now, if Paul is capable of purchasing them back that's amazing. Otherwise, I'm starting a charity system to make Paul capable. It is his skill that crafted those songs back in the '60s and he deserves to have them.

Sorry. I'll stop ranting about that.

I've decided I'll pretend I listened to both CDs. That was the worst music experience of my life. The Hilary Duff concert was a total blast compared to this! Depressingly, that was the only concert I've ever been to in my life. My parents won't buy me Paul McCartney tickets. –Is very sad- or U2 when they come here in September, even though my mom keeps telling me that if I ever have a chance I have to go to a U2 concert. I don't see how this isn't a "chance". I mean, U2 is an '80s band. Who's to know if Bono will be alive for another tour? Maybe he'll have a heart attack on stage? (Same, sadly, goes for Paul).

Speaking of which, Billy Joel (one of my mom's other favorite musicians) came out on stage at the Shea Stadium for the encore. They are the first musicians to play in the New Shea Stadium (they tore the old one down) and the last to play at the old. What if Ringo comes out on the stage, like, later? What if I'm not there for it? Ringo! NO!

Alright, so I'm talking via text with my friend smilingsquirrels as I'm typing this, and I'm not exactly sure why I'm sharing it with you, but it is a bit o' random insider Crossover information for you.

My faja (my word for Father…I call dibs…) works for the Elections Department. He gets to count election ballots _all _day long and when he isn't doing that he's getting ready to count election ballots _all _day long. The perk (as far as I've figured) of his job is a) not having graduated college but being the smartest person in the whole freaking building, Helen Purcell inclusive or b) knowing who wins the presidency roughly around 30 minutes before the rest of the world 'cos he has to write up all the little reports telling the news reporters the count and stuffs. At least, I think that's his job…he doesn't like it much (could have something to do with his working with total idiots) and if you start talking about it, he starts to rant and question why he still works there and that isn't a happy topic considering his quitting that job would be bad. Catastrophic, even. Who else will tell the others who work there what comes after 5?

I love the shirt I'm wearing right now. Who wants to guess why? Well, too bad, so sad. Too slow. I don't want to wait. I'm wearing a shirt that is grey and has John Lennon on it! Icesong got it for me –hugs Icesong for the awesome shirt-…-suspicious- I'm not hugging the picture on my shirt…no, not me…some other freak…yeah…

So, anyways, I've decided that this shall be run on. The chapter that never ends. So I will continue to write whatever first comes into my mind.

I had this dream last night, okay, and it really wasn't that weird (for me, at least) and in it I was like, 17 or something to those degrees. So, it was like all bright outside and people were skipping around like dodos singing "Max dying! Kill the Kittens! Max dying! Kill the Kittens!" and I was screaming "NO! Save the Kittens! Don't do it God! Don't Kill the Kittens!" and then it shifted and they were all screaming "Kick Him in the Netherlands! Kick Him in "That Area"! Kick Him Where the Sun Don't Shine" and Saint was sitting there, completely unperturbed saying "if he were kicked "in that area" as many times as people said to kick him there he wouldn't have "that area" anymore. It would've been kicked flat. He could never have kids. That would be sad. And painful. Save the Kittens" and had nothing wrong with implying such things and I was sitting there going "oh. My. God. What about the mods?" and Saint disappears and promises to bring pie to the 1000th dead cute body to bury party and Throne_Spazz appeared and asked when s/he could kick the chair out from under me while I was tied to a noose and I stepped down after having a breakdown and tied my little brother up in the noose and Throne kicked the chair, but another Max-Dan-Wiz member saves him and Call Me Mad said that we should've used her brother and this other person got annoyed at me and asked what made me happy and I made a huge list and Nathan_p told me it was a nice little speech-thing and I said thank you…

…and…then he was shouting and it was bad…

And all of a sudden this group of Anti's believe I'm an Anti, too. I'm all for the series and all for being a fan of it…but I just don't appreciate the spaceheads that post "Max dying" over 900 times!

-Screams-

How is this only five pages and over 2,000 words long?

That makes no sense.

I told my mom that I did not like any of the Blowfish stuff, 'cos it blowed (well, not verbatim, but something to those degrees) she looked rather let down. I told her I don't like cutesy pop. That wasn't cutesy pop, she was right. That was stupid senseless pop. Just wait, the Jonas Brothers will have a cover in about a week.

Talking about the Jonas Brothers covering songs, have you heard the Target commercial with Hello, Goodbye on it? As covered by the Jonas Brothers. If they wanted to have that song, why not have the Beatles version, which is a quadrillion times better, on the commercial? And why is it that when you play that song, anywhere now, people either say "ooooh! The Jonas Brothers!" or "Hmmm…I need to go to Target to buy some toilet paper"? Why not: "wow that is an amazing Beatles song. Penned by Paul McCartney"? Why must the world be filled with idiots?

So, anyways, (as we enter the 6th page)…

The toilet paper bit will serve as a segway. Have any of you ever heard of Livelavalive on YouTube, otherwise known as Mitchell Davis? Well, I have (and I'd like to thank Jessica for showing me his YouTube channel). He is amazingly funny if you like ADHD freaks saying and doing random things. He curses, a lot, but he bleeps them out but he does it so you can still get what he's saying. He also should play Fang in the movie. He just needs to lose glasses and gages and V-neck T-shirts and grandpa sweaters. But the wardrobe for the movie will take care of that.

He is: Pale. Has dark hair. Dresses in black. Doesn't look anything like Robert Pattinson. Can act (though that is apparently debatable) and can tell a joke without laughing all the way through and killing it. He used to have the Emo haircut but he's had it cut since then…

If you want to laugh, look him up. His latest one, titled Paper, is amazing. I just worry for their well-being because Kyle (driving the car) is not paying attention to the road…

Anyways, very funny. They ad lib it all. My favorite line is:

"Not Charmin Extra. Charmin Strong, like our friendship." The delivery is awesome…

Sorry, I kinda get strong-willed over things that interest me. I hope my Beatles obsession is an indicator of that.

Oh, and you (while you are at it) check out my pal smilingsquirrels. I suggest Shnaps and Marker's Life and Nasalrevoltoitis. It is amazingly funny. Her other ones are great too…just my faves.

I love marker!

Anyways, I'm trying to get to ten pages…but I have this desperate need of chocolate ice cream so I'm going to save this and write the next four pages in the morning…I promise…

Sooooo…

* * *

Look at that, I got off my lazy arse and inserted a line. I dig how I purposefully skipped over the previous area that needs a line. Yes, I worry too.

5:50 pm isn't exactly what I had in mind…and a few days late, I might add…

Anyways, to write the next 4 pages!

Here is a conversation that I would have at a pool if I met Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr and a big, fancy beach resort in California with my friend, Sami!

Me and Sami: -playing chicken in the pool. I haven't figured out how it works with two people either-

Paul: hey, what's with all the people.

Me: Harvard graduation, I think. They go all out. (Do they? I have no clue…Making this up as I go along)

Ringo: you're a lawyer?

Me: no. High school graduation for me and Sami. –Sami leaves to start my evil plot-

(The fact that I haven't even started High School yet isn't important-

Paul: wow.

Sami: -returns with a black binder-

Me: -pulls out a pen and starts requesting every Beatles song I know after removing all the requests for Paramore, Plain White Tees, etc. After filling out 5 pages, Paul and Ringo staring at me in disbelief the whole time, I hand it to Sami and she takes it back. 2 minutes later, All You Need is Love is blasting over the pool speakers and no one seems very thrilled about it.-

Sami: oooh, I like this song. Who's it by?

Me: The Beatles

Ringo + Paul: (at the same time I say "The Beatles) us.

Me: -looks at Paul and Ringo and realize that Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr are sitting less than 3 feet from me- Oh my god.

Ringo: -alarmed- what?

Me: it's you. It's like, really you…-pokes Paul's leg to assure myself they aren't a mirage-

Sami: who are they?

Me: -in a reverent tone- Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr…the two surviving Beatles…

Sami: ew.

Me: -slaps Sami- the Beatles are awesome.

Sami: ooookay, whatever you say, Crossover (she really says my name, not Crossover, but being referred to as Crossover is just too much fun)

Paul: -in disbelief- you like the Beatles?

Me: Understatement of the century, Paulie.

Ringo: -points and laughs at Paul- Paulie? She called you Paulie!

Me: don't mock the inflicted, Ringo.

Paul: -at Ringo- ha.

Me: -raises eyebrow at Paul-

Paul: so, anyways, what are you doing?

Me: -looks at black binder- Flooding the requests with Beatles songs and removing all the Evil Bands of the Future from the selection. –looks at the people who are distressed as yet another song that which they do not recognize begins playing- the poor babies, without their Metro Station.

Ringo: I'll go ahead and take it you don't like the music of the 21st century.

Me: 21st century music is alright. I just wanted to annoy some people beyond belief.

Sami: it looks like you are succeeding.

Me: I got no sleep last night. These people are meeting pay and back.

Paul: I didn't hear them last night.

Me: you are extremely lucky. I lost count at fifty how many times we were ding-dong ditched.

Ringo: kids still do that?

Sami: nerds do.

Me: -defensively- not only nerds. And it's alright if you know the people.

Sami: that was you!

Me: -lying- no, not me. Never.

Sami: -rolls eyes-

Me: so, anyways, do you have any requests in particular? Any favorites you want to hear?

Ringo: Octopus's Garden.

Me: done and done.

Paul: You Know My Name (Look Up The Number).

Me: oooh…good idea. –adds to list- -sends Sami to add to the request list-

Paul: so, what are you doing on your laptop?

Me: -snatches laptop- -growls- mine.

Paul: -backpedals- okay.

Me: -sigh- I'm writing a story.

Paul: really?

Me: yup.

Ringo: what kind of story?

Me: a Beatle-orientated Story of Randomitude

Paul: I got the Beatle part…but a story of what?

Me: randomitude. Random + itude = randomitude.

Paul: what does it mean?

Me: -in a creeper voice- whatever you want it to mean…

Ringo: creepy…

Me: no, not really. Just random stuff. Whatever pops into my mind at that particular moment. Supposedly funny…I go to therapy, we have a sing along, I drag you into my basement…

Paul: -worried- what was the last bit there?

Me: oh, right. I start off with this simple question: if I were to walk up to you in a grocery store, grab your wrist and start dragging you home with me, would your body guards have me pinned to the floor and would you file for a restraining order or would you be cool with it?

Paul: it depends how faraway you live.

Me: now what if I were to throw you into my basement? Don't worry, you'll be fed. And, the perk? No taxes.

Ringo: that is psycho babble worthy of Yoko Ono (sorry, personal joke…)

Me: -nods enthusiastically-

Paul: your basement?

Me: well, yes. Saint has Fang in her basement, why can't the Beatles, Michael Jackson, Elvis Presley and the occasional JFK live in mine?

Paul: I'm lost. –Starts to edge away from me-

Me: -annoyed- John's down there. He likes it. George is down there. He likes it. Michael Jackson joined us 'cos he was jealous. Elvis Presley is the entertainment. JFK walks away muttering "a disgrace to this country" a lot, though…

Ringo: you've really thought this out, haven't you?

Me: -nervously- no…

Paul: I don't think I'd mind it too much. How about you, Ringo?

Ringo: I don't know…

Me: we can fix that…here read my story…-pushes laptop at Paul and Ringo with A Test of the Magic of FanFiction pulled up on the screen on -

Paul + Ringo: -read-

Sami: -looks up in the air- Oh my gosh, I love this song! (the song is Help! By the way…)

Sami + me+ small bits of the crowd in the pool: Help me if you can I'm feeling down and I do appreciate your being round…help me get my feet back on the ground…

Ringo + Paul: -finish reading (darn that was fast!-

-The song switches to Hello, Goodbye-

Sami: Crossover, this is a Jonas Brothers song. I thought you hated the Jonas Brothers.

Me: See here, Sami, this is why I hate the Jonas Brothers. For stealing this song. No one realizes who the original is done by and no one seems to care that the Beatles version is over a quadrillion times better.

Sami: strong-willed much?

Me: -growls-

Sami: -throws hands up in defeat- that's great…

Paul: that was…interesting…

Me: my rant or my story?

Ringo: the story.

Paul: and the rant.

Me: what did you think?

Ringo: personally? I think it was quite good. You got our characteristics closer than I've seen in years…

Me: good? Just good? Ringo Starr can't think of a better word than good?

Paul: I thought it was rather funny. The pusher bit was quite true and how you brought it up in the end…

Ringo: I especially like how John and Crossover won't let the orgy bit drop.

DISCLAIMER: there isn't one…this isn't cool…I don't have a disclaimer…-is very lost- I don't know what to put here…

Ooh! I'll put an author's note!

AN: notice how I've continued the orgy bit until now…I really should let it drop…maybe in a few chapters…

Or, if Icesong were to write a chapter, then I'll let it drop entirely the instant I receive her finished chapter.

Peace and Love and Hugs and Reviews

Crossover Genius and Sami

DEDICATION: this is dedicated to my pal Sophie, with whom I have every class with this year and to Sami, who is in many of my classes this year. May we annoy the crap out of the teachers. Also, to Rachel, Kirsten, Ariel and Jessica, may we have classes next year and rule the school! Why am I being all caring and dedicating this chapter to my best friends? I don't know! I just felt like it! Oh, and to Saint. I felt so Saint-esque because I was ranting through my entire chapter. (Nearly)

Oh, and Icesong? Chapter please!

(and is Saint feels like it...I won't push though, considering...feel free to rant, if you want (of course, you have your own poetry corner for that, but in case you wanted to or anything...) -cough cough-)


	9. Chapter 9

A Test of the Magic of FanFiction:

*I'm sitting quietly in a forest, surrounded by chirping birds and completely at peace*

Me: *Overly dramatic sigh*

*Crossover poofs in rather obnoxiously*

Crossover: Hey, Icesong! What'cha doing?

Me: Well, I was sitting in this forest like the writing directed, but you just came in and interrupted me.

Crossover: Why were you sitting in a forest? And why does it smell like an old lady and her cats have come trampling through this place?

Me: I just finished the newest Warriors book and-

Crossover: Don't tell me we're where I think we are!

Me: As I was saying, I just finished the book, which was awesome by the way, and I was thinking about all the fanfic-

Crossover: No, Icesong! We can't be where I think we are!

Me: -tion that I could write now that most things are cleared up in the series.

Crossover: We're in the forest filled with cats, aren't we?

Me: Yep! You got that right! Except the series only take place in this forest for one and a half series until the Great Prophecy comes and the six chosen cats have to go on an amazing journey to-

Crossover: Where they go and meet some dramatic person, fight, someone dies, fight, there's a forbidden love, more fighting, and too many cat's names I could never remember. Right?

Me: Well if you had read past the first five books, you wouldn't feel so hateful right now. Everything comes together after you read all of them. I mean, now I know who Firestar's father was, why Bluestar had to-

Crossover: Enough with the crazy cat talk! It's so annoying! How can you remember all of their names?!

Icesong: It's easy. When all of the important characters in the series get killed off, it's usually pretty sad. Everyone practically dies at the end of the series. Or they fade into the background to be replaced by new main characters!

Crossover: I just don't see how someone could be so obsessed with a series to be able to remember all of their names.

Me: Um, you're obsessed with Maximum Ride, Twilight, your OCs, and the Beatles. It's not so different.

Crossover: I am not obsessed!! Well, you're obsessed with designer clothes and all that expensive crap!

Me: Well, it's not my fault that I am! I blame my family!

Crossover: Well, at least I can read treble cleft, play the piano, and the guitar!

Me: Don't go there, girlfriend! *snaps fingers*

*Delilah is sitting in a tree along with one of my OCs, Lana*

Lana: *Whispers* you see, this is what happens when Icesong's insomnia kicks in and she decides to write randomness.

Delilah: *Facepalm*

*Back to the battle of one-upness that rages below*

Me: At least the cats from Warriors like me!

*All of the clans spring up from under the ground*

Cats: Ssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn the twolegs! Shhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!

*They all run into the trees and disappear*

Me: Darnit

Crossover: I guess your stupid cats don't like you after all. I have a very trusty OC that will support me, right Delilah!

Delilah: Don't look at me; I'm just here for the entertainment.

Crossover: Well, well, fine! Be like that! See if I care!

Icesong: Well, it looks like you're out of supporters.

Crossover: I wouldn't be so quick to judge, Icesong. I still have my secret weapons. *Evil smile* Muhahahaha!!

Icesong: You wouldn't dare.

Crossover: Oh, but I would. Release the hounds!

*The Beatles pop in behind Crossover*

Ringo: Did she just call us hounds?

John: Hey, I'm just here for tax evasion.

Paul: Help me!

George: You do realize we haven't had a sing a long in quite some time?

Crossover: Ah, never mind, you aren't any help at all!

Me: Plus, I can't write hem as well as you can.

Crossover: I do have one more secret weapon.

Me: And what's that?

Crossover: My completed summer reading assignment!!

Me: The non-procrastination, it burns!!!!

*I melt into a puddle*

Crossover: Hehehehehe!

*Sami pops in*

Sami: I swear you guys get weirder and weirder every time I see you.

*She shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and poofs away*

**Authors Note! **Well if you haven't noticed by now, Crossover didn't write this chappie, I, Icesong, did!So I know this doesn't top Crossover's extremely long and random chapter eight, but I'm not that random! Please review, or my army of squirrelcats will eat your socks.

**Disclaimer: **I in no way, shape, or form own the Warrior Cat series. Or Maximum Ride and Twilight. Crossover claims that John and George sold themselves to her for tax evasion, but we can't count on that. She is a tad insane, you know. Kayla does own Delilah, though and I own my OC, Lana. Also, I got the "Shun the nonbeliever" thing off of Charlie he Unicorn.

Author's Note: yeah, I know, I can't help but butt in…it is I, Crossover!! Lawl! Oh, my sides hurt…the pain…the pain…-rereads chapter and laughs harder, again, and sides still hurt- -wipes tears from eyes- I wasn't expecting that…

Me: so, Sir Paul, what do you believe is the strongest point of that chapter?

Paul: Well, Crossover, I must applaud the wonderful grammar usage.

Me: Mr. Harrison?

George: I believe that we very much can count on the fact that I sold myself to you for tax evasion.

John: I, on the other hand, sold myself for tax evasion and food. Don't make me look so easy-going.

Ringo: I rather liked it. Hilarious. Random. Exciting. Shun the non-believers!

Beatles: -chorus- ssssssssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

Me: Alright, Delilah? Maybe you'll be sensible.

Delilah: I like how she left me out of it. I don't like being dragged into your senseless arguments. And drawing me into that one with Kenny wasn't wise.

Me: the only tiff I had was how she called me "Kayla" in her Disclaimer. I'm not Kayla. Kayla is my Creator. I am a figment of her imagination that conveys messages for The Greater Good and therefore, not Kayla. This Kayla of whom you speak is not I, I am Crossover and she is Kayla.

John: you sound like the American government as they were trying to keep me out of the country for fear that I would become a large political influence and unseat the President and such.

George: and you would've if you could've.

John: why did I have to die physically?

Ringo: -mockingly- you live on in our hearts!

Paul: Crossover, it appears as if you are hi-jacking this chapter…

Me: not necessarily. It was four pages long. Albeit, four hilarious pages of funniness, but it just wasn't quite long enough for Kayla so she said, let it be longer!

Delilah: 'course she did…

Me: shhh.

Paul: alright…

John: -shrugs- I see nothing weird about it.

Ringo: you don't think that it's weird that Crossover and Kayla have now decided to be two separate people? You don't think that's odd?

John: no. Now, what I think is weird is that fact that the grammatical rules of the English language dictate that "'I' before 'E' except after 'C'". Then, how does the word 'weird' work? I see no "C" in that word!

Paul: haven't you heard the other grammar rule, it isn't a rule without an exception?

George: wouldn't that be the "except after 'C'" bit?

Paul: -palmface- no. Like every word must have a vowel. The word "why" does not have a vowel. That is the exception.

Me: it has a vowel. Haven't you heard the vowels before? A E I O U and sometimes Y?

Paul: that's why "y" is sometimes a vowel. They added that 'cos the kindygarteners were getting confuzzeled.

Ringo: Kindygarteners? Confuzzled? Really Paul? Or is it Paulie now?

Me: Don't mock the inflicted, Ring.

John: -mockingly- Hiya Paulie –eyebrow eyebrow-

Paul: -palmJohn'sface-

John: -sticks tongue out at Paul-

Delilah: how long are you going to allow this senseless rambling to continue?

Me: until I feel like finishing the chapter I'd meant to be chapter nine but will be chapter ten shortly after I post this one.

George: logically, isn't it chapter ten now that you've decided this one will come first.

Me: no, approximately 490384 seconds after I post this chapter, the other one that I've begun previously will be dubbed chapter ten.

Ringo: -puzzled look- How—

George: -interrupts Ringo- don't even ask, Ringo. You'll be sorry you did.

John: if there's one thing we've learned after these 9 chapters, it is that anything can happen when Crossover is involved.

Paul: and to not question it.

Ringo: amen.

George: Hare Krishna!

Me: no no, George. We mustn't interfere with religion.

George: -irked- you've got an issue with my saying Hare Krishna? Ringo said 'amen'!

Me: well, yes, but you just don't reprimand Ringo Starr. Besides, it wasn't being used in a religious sense.

Delilah: Hare Krishna?

Ominous Voice from Above: Don't Question It.

Me: cool. That was really cool. See that? Kayla just spoke at us!  
Delilah: wow, how personal. Spoke at.

Me: watch it, Dellsie; you very well could be vaporized. All Kayla has to do is decide she doesn't need you anymore. You know the story of Gilroy.

Delilah: -poofs away to the OC Haven-

John: so what's with the lesson, Cross?

Ominous Voice from Above: Don't call her Cross. Her name is Crossover Genius. Be glad I allow you to simply state Crossover as a way of addressing my minion.

Me: whoa, hey, minion? Since when?

Ominous Voice etc, ect: OMGizzle…that rhymed…

Me: -thinks it over- it does! Cool! –Air fives the Ominous Voice from Above that which is Kayla-

Sami: -poofs back in- Kayla, why do you keep texting me while trying to text Sophie? Who's John?

Me: not Kayla. I'm The Eternal Crossover Genius, a Perpetual Insomniac. –Memory wipes Sami- -Sami poofs away with no recollection of this chapter-

THE END


	10. Chapter 10

Welcome, to a new installment of A Test of the Magic of FanFiction. We're your hosts, Icesong and Crossover. And for once, Icesong is present for the postitude of this posty-ness posty…

Posty, posty.

Anyways, that was a lawl moment for Icesong…

As was that…

And that…

Narration! Play-by-play. Say something, Icesong, for the lovely reviewers at home. (not that I'm suggesting you review or anything, while you're here…)

Follow the instructions…c'mon! You can do it! –Sounds like a cheerleader-

Icesong: yeah, I don't think you could be a cheerleader, Crossover…-pause- well, maybe you could. Just dye you hair blonde!

Me: -types monologue-

Icesong: and technically this isn't a post, Crossover, this is a chapter.

Me: stop critiquing. My critique was much more polite and random and off-topic. Stop lowering my self-esteem or I may never earn my Brownie Points by being assertive and it will be all your fault!

Icesong: well, sorry.

Me: wait, hang on, and don't say anything. I need to type it up. –Types it up-

Icesong: you know, I'm not that random right now. And you know that's not nice that you are typing up every single word that I say. Don't do that! Stop!

Me: -continues typing- _thinks to self: and they think I'm a nice friend…-insert evil laugh here-_

Icesong: I can read that, you know!

Me: I know. That's the point. Duh.

Icesong: has Ariel texted us back about her penname and possible appearance here? She had better accept it. No, don't type that, Crossover.

Me: -rereads a particularly funny line I just finished spell-checking- -sings- type it, do do do do, type it up….-trails off to type it up-

Icesong: -phone rings- hello? –continues talking and I'm going to be courteous and not transcribe it 'cos that would be eavesdropping-

Me: -informs Icesong about her transcription, or lack thereof-

Icesong: ow, that cracked my kneck.

Me: painful…I heard that…ouch

Icesong: …

Me: -laugh-

Icesong: I don't know what to write, or say, or whatever, you're obviously the one running this show.

Me: I have been rather…decisive…

Both: -laugh-

Icesong: I don't feel random at all right now, it's so sad.

John: hi ho! Icesong!

Icesong: you and my mom could be insomnia buddies…

Crossover: -demanding- say hello to John.

Icesong: hello? I don't like talking to imaginary characters that aren't mine.

John: -offended- Hey, Paul, we need to give this so called ally a talking to.

Paul: yeah, a talking to.

George: -cracks knuckles-

Ringo: hey, guys, she's obviously not very much enjoying the whole dictation by Crossover…

Me: I'm not dictating! I'm just typing what she says…

Icesong: …-continuing the conversation I didn't quite get all the way down- …yeah, no, my phone was on silent.

Me: -types-

Icesong: you know, it isn't really fair for our readers if you only write half of the conversation.

Me: it was irrelevant to the plotline

Icesong: what plotline?

Me: -headdesk-

Icesong: O.O

Now, I can draw Ringo…

O|O

//oo\\

o~o

O-O

My interpretations of the Beatles keyboard smilie style! (thank you, Icesong, for interjecting the "smilie" bit)

And, Icesong did her homework. I'm not allowed to carry on the "orgy" bit with John any more.

John: damn.

Me: it was baaaaaaaaaaad.

John: oh, really?

Me: okay, Icesong didn't tell me what it was, but I'm sure I don't want to know…

Icesong: -tells Crossover (really, more of tells me how to find out)-

Me: ohmigoh!

(repeats ohmigoh 'cos it was fun to say…)

Anyways, just wanted to update y'all…

Over and out…

Crossover and Icesong (who is, in fact, present).

John: damn. We don't get to carry on with that bit??

Me: no! And now the typo directly before it where I typed "do Ringo" is just sooo much worse…

-dies of mortification-

Icesong: -dies of laughter-


	11. Chapter 11

-Kick line-

-sings- Can you, can you do the can-can, can you do the can-can…-trails off-

I honestly cannot believe that Mrs. Mazzullo gave us the Can-Can from Orpheus in the Underworld to learn this year. It was…random.

Just my style!

Anyways, school started up and I'm updating you all and just here to say that I won't be able to get on very often at all 'cos of my schoolwork and stuffs.

Anyways, I lost my original chapter 11. Just a huge compilation of a whole bunch of amazing poetry. And now it's gone… -sobs-

Anyways, sorry, (again), Icesong for cussing you out. I really wasn't cussing you out, just cussing out my general life and rotten luck in general. Afterwards, I proceeded to write a poem with a definite suicidal under drift.

I'm not depressed…nooooo…

Anyways, just a life update…

Beatles Rock Band comes out on the 9th. Mark you calendars. I'm probably going to skip school and go and get it. My dad's taking me with him! Yay!

Mine and Icesong's birthday is on the 5th. I'm getting Rock Band as a birthday gift.

School has started so I won't be able to write as much. You'll be able to tell the school breaks and such. There'll be a sudden stock of chapters up. –sigh- I wrote my first fanfiction during fall break of 7th grade. Memories…

I've been a-posting on my dear Paulie's site. I would like to say "hello" to HarleyBlues, if she happens to be reading this. I'm a-posting 'round here so you have something to log on to.

Nearly accomplished with the guitar. Must get lessons. (mental note)

I'm sure I've forgotten to do some homework, but I just can recall exactly what it was I needed to do

Jane Eyre is the most boring book ever. But I must read it for my book report.

I was tagged by Saint on YouTube and I made a movie in response. Then I tagged Saint and Ringo Starr. Saint wasn't too happy and I haven't gotten a reply from Ringo. Saint made another Tag Video, entitled "Curse You Crossover Genius!" and I was re-tagged and made another video. This all happened in one day. O.o

I'm very happy to announce that I am in fact working on a making some vlog-like stuffs on YouTube. Like a blog…but on YouTube. Well, it made sense in my mind.

I'm also starting an entirely new story on FictionPress. A collection of song-fics based on Beatles music. Considering it is a "spin-off" per say, I'll be posting it here as well. I give myself permission to do so. Ha

Anyways, just thought I'd say that. No, I haven't fallen off the edge of the earth.

Yet.

The Eternal Crossover Genius, A Perpetual Insomniac, Zealot, Serial Postee, Self-Proclaimed Patron Saint of Insanity and Head Lunatic of the Travelling Asylum, American League.

I'd like to send my thanks to Charmingal for heading the English League so well. We're organized. Are you?


	12. Sssshhhhuuuuuuunnnnnnn

TMFF- The Chapter of Shunitude

I am hereby, as authoress of this train wreck, am dedicating this chapter to all whom I shun.

Firstly, Vera_Amber:

Beatles are genius. They are freaking epic. Not nonsensical. I don't know what you listen to that compared to Beatles makes them nonsensical, but it doesn't exist.

Epic Twitter wars are dangerous. Especially with a catatonic Beatles obsessed fanfiction author. Not good.

Anyways,

We are waiting for Icesong to submit her chapter. Well, and write it…

And for Saint's chapter. Which she's written. And hasn't sent. So…

(Old Brown Shoe…yaysies! Love that's right, is only half or what's wrong. Correctomundo, Georgie Pie)

Off Topic Note: So, I'm on DeviantArt, right? And I favorited this girl's Beatles story, which was Joul, and I didn't even know that pairing existed. And for those of you un-educated peeps, that would be gay John and gay Paul being gay together. It was…disturbing, to say the least. But, anyways, I wrote in my review:

"-huggles John- He's mine. He didn't want taxes and he wanted food. Mine. Not Paul's. Mine"

And the girl says: "oh no no no, see, John is **mine**"

And then suddenly I have Georgie Pie. Creepy. But…I already had him. He's living here still.

Only, John ran away with Paul. (not that way! Icky!)

So, now I need to find them. John left because of my crack fic (which was epic fail and will be absorbed into this fail as well as the next chapter) and Paul left 'cos he just likes being difficult like that. Sort of the: "you want me to live in the basement? Well, come get me." Type.

-growls-

And I commissioned Delilah to Skittles for suing Gatorade. I think Julian will…

Oh, gods. Help! Just shuffled itself into the playlist on Windows Media Player.

I can't help but sing along. Now, all I have to do is learn to play it on the guitar. That would just be amazing.

I **hate** Word and Gmail. If you place hyphens around a phrase –as such- they strike it out. If you put asterisks around the word, they simply bold the word. I don't want it bolded. I want it asterisked.

Anyways.

Would you believe me if I told you that was the a/n?

Well, it was.

Disclaimer: Despite the lies, Xavier does know my name. And, I no longer own John. Apparently shelter from taxes and food don't hold much water anymore. Damn dA…

John: -clinging to post- I don't wanna go with the crazy lady! She turns men gay! Help! Help!

Me: -sniffles-

Random Deviant: -pouts- John. Is. MINE.

Me: But…but…he sold himself to me. Food, water and tax evasion. Does this hold no water?

Deviant: no. He's mine.

John: -screams- HELP!

Neighbor: -over fence- what's going on over there?

Me: -rushed- Oh, nothing! Don't mind us and John. Please, carry on.

Neighbor: -cocks eyebrow and goes back into house-

John: -kicks Deviant- -clings to Crossover's leg- don't make me go with her. Please.

Me: She did call you.

John: no. I received no phone call.

Me: stop being mature, John. She called you. Said you were her's first. There's nothing I can do. It's unconstitutional.

John: -sobs- I don't wanna be gay with Paul. Gay's scare me…

Me: -sigh- that was a split second mentioning. I had to explain the aura that Delilah and Camiron had.

John: -begs- don't tell them…they don't need to know…don't tell them…

Me: this whole chapter is hating on Xavier. I have to. It's my civic duty to destroy Xavier. It's my destiny.

John: -Bambi eyes-

Me: -melts slight- -smacks- Don't do that. You may not pull the fangirl card ever again.

John: -Bambi eyes- -bottom lip quivers-

Me: -growls-

John: -sniffles-

Me: see, Deviant-Random-Person-Who-Claims-to-Be-The-Rightful-Owner-of-John, there's this kid, right? His name is Xavier…

Xavier is a nasty, nasty child. He's a swimmer. He shaves just about anywhere with hair that isn't covered by his swimsuit. He's also Asian, so he can pull the "help-I'm-a-minority-the-mean-white-kid-is-hating-on-me" card. So, he acts like a five year old. As quoted by Sydney: "Xavier. You stand naked and look into a mirror every morning and see everything wrong about yourself. You are so insecure that you then have to go bully other kids just to feel better about yourself and your flaws", which was said quite eloquently.

(Icesong: I said I was gonna do this, didn't I?)

So, for a while Xavier would inquire as to what grade we got on tests. It went on for a while, until he decided to ask the brooding-dark-and-volatile child about her grade. Naturally, this brooding-dark-and-volatile child is none other than moi.

Deviant: why do I care?

Me: shut up. My fanfic.

I then shout, quite loudly, "You've no right to know! It's my math grade and whether I got eleventy-twelve percent is my issue and my issue alone. Now go away!"

Icesong, Aerial and Jango then turn on me and say there's no need to be rude, and kindly divulge their grades to Xavier. He then scowls and turns and walks away.

I'd never liked Xavier. But this just began the hatred.

So, today in Language Arts, he contorts himself in the chair and sprawls across my desk. We are working in pairs working on two voice poems about King Arthur. Icesong and I are working together, Aerial and Jango are working together. Naturally, Xavier sits right in front of me.

Anyways, he's sprawled across the desk. He then demands: "what are you doing?"

Me: a poem about King Arthur. Now, you should turn around and do the same.

Xavier: what are you doing.

Me: turn around and work on your poem, Xavier.

Xavier: -enunciates like I'm a total idiot- What are you doing?

Me: I'M TELLING YOU TO TURN AROUND AND DO YOU POEM! –points towards from of room for emphasis-

-the class nearest us turn and look. Mrs. Johnson is applying more lipstick, and the moth-looking things are still in the vents and the rest of the class is still working, oblivious. Sydney, though, is paying acute attention-

Xavier: -turns to Icesong who politely begins to explain-

Me: -hisses- We mustn't give in! –to Xavier- turn around and do your own work.

Xavier: -to Icesong- are you in II? No, of course not. –to me- Are you in II?

Me: no.

Xavier: are you gifted? Probably aren't smart enough…

Me: I bloody very well could be in II. I just chose not to be. Now work on your gosh darn (I actually said "gosh darn) poem!

Xavier: I don't even know your name, and I hate you. –turns around-

Me: -to Icesong- Hate-Hate relationships with your peers. It's a beautiful thing.

So, there the war started. I then continued with the brief retelling of it on Macca's boards, and now here. I believe I also said something on Twitter…

I hate Xavier. He shall now feel the wrath of Crossover Genius. And…know what my fight song shall be? Or, rather, what song Xavier should be singing, right about now?

That's right. Fang's Help! Spoof.

This is **part** of my plan. Carefully, weedle my way to a point where I can write on Xavier's wall on Facebook, under the assumed name of Crossover Genius, naturally. Just write whatever the heck I can think of. Rumors, lies, anything.

And the best part? No one knows who Crossover Genius is.

Of course, I'll have a major issue if anyone finds out…

Though, I act so differently at school. All quiet, not talking, not really doing much either. I do my work, read, write, doodle, repeat. Only a select few have heard me speak, but they just look through me.

-sigh-

I can just see Icesong's reprimands of my plan. She'll hate it, I'm sure. Besides, I won't say anything mean to him. Just make him squirm. Something anyone would know. Maybe just a gay: "hi Xavier" is enough. Just let him know I'm out there and…

Damn.

If he Google's Crossover Genius and bothers to investigate, which he probably won't, but if he does…

He'll find this.

Then, he'll read this.

Then, he'll be able to tell "oh, that's her".

Then, I can go "oh, damn".

Drats.

Well…

Darn.

There that goes.

I'll just have to be content with writing anti-Xavier fics.

Can I proclaim Friday as Anti-Xavier Day? As it is John Lennon's birthday, the occasion just screams "Hate on Xavier".

And, I am aware it is also "Sexily Day". We can very well hate on Xavier sexily. It works quite well.

John Lennon turns men gay. Xavier turns them back.

Oh. John.

Deviant: are you done?

Me: no.

Deviant: can I just take John and leave?

Me: no.

Deviant: can you say anything but "no"?

Me: -grins evilly- no.

Deviant: can I have John?

Me: no.

Deviant: I'll tell Saint!

Me: -scoffs- Like you know her. And besides…by the time you get there…

Deviant: -suspicious- what?

Me: I'd have already told her 'bout you. Ha.

Deviant: -Bambi eyes- Please? I want my Johnny Cake…

Me: -smirks- no fangirl card for you. –pats on head-

Deviant: -evaporates-

John: -huggles Crossover- thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you, oh my freaking gods thank you!

Me: -pushes John off awkwardly- didn't know it was possible to fanboy…

John: -coughs- -tries to look cool-

Me: -rolls eyes- epic fail, John.

John: well, I mean, I just didn't want to be gay. And gay with Paul? Nu-uh. Maybe if it were George…or Brian.

Me: O.o

John: -grins-

Me: -shakes head- You are so pathetic, John.

John: -sigh- I know. Where is Paul, anyways?

Me: no, wait. I'm still not over the being gay with George bit. Why George?

John: well, not Paul. We're like brothers, right? You just do that with a brother.

Me: yeah…and…?

John: well, Ringo? His nose…it would get in the way.

Me: -makes a face- You've obviously put a lot of thought into this.

John: I'm actually not supposed to be sharing any of this. Brian asked us, if we all had a pick of the other four to be gay with, who it would be and why.

Me: that's…weird. But expected from Brian. Given his own…sexuality…

John: -shrugs- and George is…well, George. He's just like that. He'd be easy to be gay with.

Me: -makes face-

John: -shrugs- you wouldn't understand.

Me: no, I suppose not. Why Brian?

John: 'cos he is homosexual. You've read about our Spain Trip.

Me: I try not to think about that. It's one thing to cheat on Cynthia, which was very bad, but an entirely another to cheat on her with another man. That's just sick.

John: -sigh- Let's go fetch Paul, shall we? Explain to him that if he were gay, that would be okay, and I'd laugh at him anyway…

Me: don't quote them at me. Don't you quote them at me.

John: them?

Me: oh, Saint, Skittles, Kara, MG…all them. Can't credit any specific one of them 'cos then they all confer and try and decide which of them said that first, or started it or whatever. Especially when you are trying to tell them just how bad ECD is. Kara finally got it. Thank God, too.

John: alright…

Me: that's like trying to credit a specific song to either you or Paul. There's always the "oh, but Paul had this idea and I this, though I mostly wrote it" or "John had all the lyrics written, I just had to give it rhythm and body".

John: oh, okay. Like saying: "who's better? Elvis, Chuck Berry, Jonas Brothers, Beatles or Michael Jackson? We'll just leave Bono out of this since he's king."

Me: -gasps- -dies- -resurrected-

John: -blinks slowly- did you just gasp, die and get resurrected?

Me: yeah. God said that I had to diss Xavier. It was my God-given talent.

John: I doubt that, but alright.

[we start walking towards the street, where Ringo in his awesome car from Yellow Submarine is waiting. It's red with yellow wheels. But it's all in his mind. It really is blue with orange wheels. George is shotgun.]

Door: -mysteriously opens by itself-

John + Me: -slide in-

Ringo: we must find Paul. No matter how bad those thoughts of Crossover's were while reading the Joul fic, we must get him back. He has to save our skins if the basement collapses. Crossover has the support beams stock piled in case this is a prophetic dream. She also has pepper spray in case the rape dream was prophetic as well. –starts driving away from the sunset-

Me: Ringo, there are some dreams left unstated for the general public.

George: that's less of a dream, Cross.

Me: you know, George? Anyone else but you could never get away with calling me Cross. But the way you say it…I'll let it slide.

George: -nods- yup. Or is just because you are now all suspicious that I really am Jesus Christ?

Me: that was a freakish

George: and now you had to go and get side-tracked and tell the Macca site all about it.

Me: I was telling Paul! I addressed him very clearly.

George: oh yes, because he gets on there all the time.

Me: maybe I will kill you for calling me Cross.

George: Georgie Pie? No wonder that Deviant thought it was alright to take John.

Me: typically, it makes them uncomfortable. No one thinks to obsess with you. So, you say something like that and they leave. They go: "alright…someone isn't mentally stable" or something like that. Or, in John's case, you mention Brian Epstein and their little summer jaunt down to Spain…

John: -clears throat loudly and gives me the shut up now or we both die look-

Me: -purses lips and waits for George to reply-

George: alright whatever.

Me: -sticks tongue out at-

Ringo: alright, gang, here's the plan.

John: -gigglesnort-

Me: what's up, John? Just a second, Rings.

John: sorry. Just got a very comical picture or Scooby Doo…carry on…

Me: …alright. Ringo?

Ringo: we're gonna go find Paul. Then, we'll take him back to Crossover's basement. Clear?

Me: -nods like that wasn't totally obvious-

John: -still consumed with the Scooby Doo image-

George: how long did it take you to figure that one out, Ring?

Ringo: -disdainful glance- I was just clearing up that we are not going to get donuts or anything totally random in the middle of it all.

John: -destroyed look- you can't just suck the randomness out of this, Ringo! It's unconstitutional!

Me: -rolls eyes- it actually **isn't**. I'm sure James Madison would appreciate Ringo more than you, John.

John: we know this, Crossover. Do you not remember my adventure as a Sea Peanut?

Me: yeah, well, you shouldn't have insulted George Washington. That was simple poor judgement.

George: -nods solemnly-

Ringo: what I don't get about that, is where was I? Plot hole?

Me: no. You were still alive. I'd sent you to fetch me a pencil from my room. Remember?

Ringo: …sure…

Me: yeah. Hey, look! Is that…is that…is that…

John: -pales- Yes. Yes it is. Damn my luck! Curse the Fates! Stupid astrological signs! Why must you align!

George: -distastefully- oh, I hate her so much.

Ringo: she…she was just weird. I didn't really hate her…

Me: it's Yoko Ono. Alive and able as any OC.

[To Be Continued…]


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: sorry about the mix-up with last chapter. I'm terribly sorry. A flashback if you missed it.

Me: -sticks tongue out at-

Ringo: alright, gang, here's the plan.

John: -gigglesnort-

Me: what's up, John? Just a second, Rings.

John: sorry. Just got a very comical picture or Scooby Doo…carry on…

Me: …alright. Ringo?

Ringo: we're gonna go find Paul. Then, we'll take him back to Crossover's basement. Clear?

Me: -nods like that wasn't totally obvious-

John: -still consumed with the Scooby Doo image-

George: how long did it take you to figure that one out, Ring?

Ringo: -disdainful glance- I was just clearing up that we are not going to get donuts or anything totally random in the middle of it all.

John: -destroyed look- you can't just suck the randomness out of this, Ringo! It's unconstitutional!

Me: -rolls eyes- it actually **isn't**. I'm sure James Madison would appreciate Ringo more than you, John.

John: we know this, Crossover. Do you not remember my adventure as a Sea Peanut?

Me: yeah, well, you shouldn't have insulted George Washington. That was simple poor judgement.

George: -nods solemnly-

Ringo: what I don't get about that, is where was I? Plot hole?

Me: no. You were still alive. I'd sent you to fetch me a pencil from my room. Remember?

Ringo: …sure…

Me: yeah. Hey, look! Is that…is that…is that…

John: -pales- Yes. Yes it is. Damn my luck! Curse the Fates! Stupid astrological signs! Why must you align!

George: -distastefully- oh, I hate her so much.

Ringo: she…she was just weird. I didn't really hate her…

Me: it's Yoko Ono. Alive and able as any OC.

[To Be Continued…]

[line]

Yoko Ono: -in a high-pitch shrill Asia/American/British accent- Ah! John! John, John, my love…

John: -makes cross with fingers to ward off evil- Please let this not be happening…

Me: I'm sorry, John. But it is. You are married to her.

John: do you think anyone would listen to me if I said that it was only because she had me on drugs the entire time? Notice how I'm away from her for 29 years, and I don't have a single drop of anything. In three seconds we'll be in loopy-land.

Me: Just say no!

John: there's no saying "no" to her.

Me: Hugs, not drugs!

John: If you get too close, she'll shoot you up some cocaine.

Me: I Pledge to be Drug Free!

John: -scowls-

Me: well, it got your mind off of her –sneers-

Yoko: -approaches car door, as Ringo had stopped out of shock-

George: -locks the doors-

Yoko: -picks lock and climbs in, sitting on John's lap-

John: -cringes away- Icky, icky, icky, icky, icky…

Yoko: -sappily- Oh, John, my love…-tries to kiss-

John: -snatches George's arm and uses as shield-

George: -screams- No! I have cooties! I'm gonna die…a crazed and insane death…-falls to knees-

Ringo: how'd you…George, you're sitting in a car.

George: dramatic effect.

Me: Yoko, this is not your fanfiction. You are in Bitten. Not here. See, I make fun of people and things in Bitten. Such as the Sullen Cullens. John was happy until you showed up…

Ringo: at least she proves he isn't gay. Gays would know better.

Me: -disapproving glance at Ringo- Yeah, well. Yoko, it would be very nice of you to leave. Perhaps if you waited in my basement…?

Yoko: -death grip on John's neck- No. I'm not leaving John…-dreamily- My John…my lover…

Me: -getting really creeped out really fast- …ooookay…um…George? What do we do?

George: -disgusted- we wait it out.

John: -alarmed- George? What do we do?

George: -annoyed- Why are you looking at me? You got yourself into this mess.

John: -wimpers- it wasn't my fault…

Yoko: -brushes hair out of John's eyes- -has a spaced out dreamy expression-

John: -presses back into seat as far as he can go-

Ringo: well, we need to find Paul, anyways. –starts driving again-

Me: -scared- Hey, uh, Yoko? You know, um, public displays of affection make certain FanFiction authors uncomfortable…I mean…it's great that you care about John and all…but…do you need to do that…oh, God, leave your shirt on…

Yoko: -space cadet- …it doesn't matter who's looking it's so real…

Me: -nervous laugh- well, yes, but…erm…Ringo? Help? Please?

Ringo: Hey, Yoko. Why dontcha give Johnny a break? He's probably in shock from seeing you. He thought he'd never see you again.

Me: -makes mental note to ask Ringo how he made that sound so sincere-

Yoko: -looks at John chidingly- Is that the problem, Johnny Cake?

John: -wild eyed- -nods- uh-huh.

Yoko: -pats cheek- -flops down in between John and me- So. How're you?

Unison: The Eternal Crossover Genius, A Perpetual Insomniac, Zealot, Serial Postee, Self-Proclaimed Patron Saint of Insanity and Head Lunatic of the Travelling Asylum, American League.

Yoko: -nods as if that wasn't total psycho babble- Isn't that awful how the US government arranged John's death?

John: -grins happily- How…unconstitutional…

Yoko: -nods emphatically-

Then…Yoko Ono Lennon turned into…Yoko Ono Lennon the Sea Peanut.

Me: -catches in cup of bottle of water- -puts lid on- -slides under seat-

John: -relaxes- that's better.

Me: I know, right? Creepy factor eleventy-twelve, that's for sure.

George: that was my problem way back when…jeez, I was so ready to just walk out. I hated her.

Ringo: you know, I think she can still hear us. John, can Sea Peanuts hear?

John: yeah, but not very well, you know?

George: mmmm. Like, if you plugged your ears? You can still hear, but not so well?

John: yes. Along those lines anyways. Didn't really have ears…

Ringo: -sensing John was about to have a total catatonic breakdown- Alright. She can still hear us.

Me: do we care?

John + George + Me: No.

Ringo: -hurt- we can't just be mean to her. It isn't her fault she belongs in the loony bin.

Me: well, she could try and keep it on the hush-hush and not brainwash people.

Ringo: true, true.

George: brainwash?

Me: -nods- you should see Sean Lennon, her son's, web site. It is all about how accomplished he is and how his dad –nods at John- was killed by the US government because he was a National Threat…or something like that. I became so disgusted less than half way through I gave up.

George: I wouldn't even be on the site to begin with. Sean disgusts me.

Me: -nods- I can hardly make it to the John Lennon site. Yours and Paul's and Ringo's are well done. John's on the other hand…and he really is the one that kinda deserves it most, you know? The way he went out and all. It irks me that a legend such as him doesn't have a better website. He deserves that much.

John: gee…thanks, Crossover.

Me: don't mention it. Just wait until they start a FanFiction Hall of Fame. I'll be down there every two hours shouting at the manager to enter Saint. Which they should. Then, her Wikipedia page won't be deleted.

John: …alright…

Me: not that I've thought that out or anything.

George: you know, if they have a FanFiction Hall of Fame, it'll be in one of the northern states, wouldn't it?

Me: you're point?

George: how're you going to get there every two hours to shout at the manager?

Me: see, I can be quite scary when I'm shouting at a person. Especially if I'm arguing. Now, if I go down to a wimpy museum manager and demand an exhibit for my favorite authoress, I'm vaguely sure I can scare him into it.

Ringo: so you'd only have to go down there once?

Me: yup. For the grand opening. That is, assuming people are too stupid to notice the best FanFiction author of all time.

Ringo: not to drag off topic or anything, but where do you think Paul would be?

Me: gee, I don't know. Where is Paul whenever something catastrophic occurs?

George: he was in his home is Sussex when John died. And in Sussex when I died. Are these catastrophic events?

Me: yes. Now, let's consider this to be one of the three greatest shocks of his life. One, John's death. Two, George's death. Three, this. He'd go where he's gotten over everything, right?

Ringo: how're we going to get from Arizona to Sussex?

John: Ringo, you haven't been paying attention. This car is from Yellow Submarine. It can do anything.

Ringo: Like the Magic School Bus?

George: exactly like the Magic School Bus. Only, we don't have to go to school or learn or behave.

Me: whoa, whoa, whoa. You guys so have to behave, whether you like it or not. Whether you know it or not. You may not be naughty.

Ringo: awww, he didn't mean it like that, Crossover. He meant raising your hand to speak and stuff like that.

Me: yes, but if I agree that you don't have to behave, it can be stretched. My words manipulated.

John: oh, we wouldn't be bad.

Me: did you not notice was Yoko was about to do? Right in front of me, too? –shudders-

Ringo: I thought my eyes were about to start burning up. I'd be blind!

George: -elbows Ringo- Good one.

Me: I don't like mentally or emotionally scarring events. That would have been one.

John: alright! I get it! I was going to die of mortification, anyways.

Me: oh, no. You can die of murder, but you must never die of mortification. You may never do that.

Ringo: it isn't good for your self-esteem or general health.

George: no, it isn't.

Me: see? John, you must be careful! Figures of speech, however figurative, are very powerful things when you are dealing with-

George + John + Ringo: The Magic of FanFiction.

John: yes, we know.

Me: yes. As does Fang.

Ringo: -laughs- that was so funny!

George: -points- Look! The Grand Canyon!

Me: -shouts- And Paul! Get him, Ringo! Chase him! Fetch Paulrus! Fetch him!

[line]

Author's Note:

I will be returning tomorrow with another chapter. It will be a break in the timeline in honor of the following:

John Lennon's birthday

Anti-Xavier Day

I will return on Saturday with my mini-plotline as planned.

R&R: Saint? Fang? Where are you??


	14. Happy Birthday, John Lennon

*Chapter 14*

Happy Birthday, John Lennon.

Me: like I said yesterday, we're going to jump to an alternate universe, celebrate John's birthday, and leap right back to our "plot line" tomorrow.

John: you start a plotline, only to interrupt it yourself.

Me: yup.

George: I've never understood her logic.

Me: yeah. And Paul's back. But only for this. He'll be gone again later.

Paul: and before you flame Crossover, she did warn you.

Me: yup. So, if you hate John Lennon and everything good, skip this chapter.

Ringo: or you could read it.

Me: yes. I'll try to keep it sane.

John: that's hard to believe.

Me: read it, and weep. We'll be back tomorrow without Paul.

George: -laughing- and Yoko the Sea Peanut.

Me: -chuckles- that was fun to write. No doubt about it.

Paul: …what?

Ringo: if you'd been here, you'd know.

Paul: oh.

Me: I don't blame you, Paul. I'd be goner than gone if I were you.

John: and yet, here you are, continuing to write this…story…

George: she's diligent. She promised updates on school breaks-here she is!

Me: thank you, George.

DISCLAIMER:I don't own Paul anymore. Not for long, anyways.

a/n: happy birthday to John Lennon, born on this date, October 9, in 1940. Today is also Anti-Xavier Day. Let today be full of joy, rejoice and hate comments on Xavier.

[line]

John Lennon turns men gay. Xavier changes them back.

Xavier turns women lesbian. John Lennon changes them back.

¤º°¨ ¸„ø¤º°¨„ø¤º°¨°º¤ø„¸¨°º¤ø„¸¸„﻿ º¤ø„¸  
¨°º¤ø„ ¸ BEATLES FOREVER º¤ø„¸  
¸„ø¤º°¨¸„ø¤º „¸¨°º¤ø„¸¸„ ¸„ø¤º

Either I'm insane or I'm a genius. I haven't been locked up yet, so my ego says I'm genius –John Lennon, 1979

When you're drowning you don't say 'I'd be incredibly pleased if someone were to have the foresight to notice me drowning and help me,' you just scream- John Lennon, 1975

Ringo had this neat little private club above his garage in the Beatle days. He had one piece of signed memorabilia. It was an autographed photo of John and me-Paul McCartney, 1987

John Lennon died a Saint. Whether he was of love, freedom, peace, music or rebellion no one knows. We don't care, really. - Bob Spitz, biographer.

It matters not who you love where you love why you love when you love or how you love. It matters only that you love.  
-John Lennon

Love is the answer, and you know that for sure.  
-John Lennon

Laurel and Hardy, that's John and Yoko. And we stand a better chance under that guise because all the serious people like Martin Luther King and Kennedy and Gandhi got shot.  
-John Lennon

My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.  
-John Lennon

I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It's just that the translations have gone wrong.  
-John Lennon

All we are saying is give peace a chance.  
-John Lennon

I don't believe in killing, whatever the reason.  
-John Lennon

Love is the flower you've got to let grow.  
-John Lennon

The more I see the less I know for sure.  
-John Lennon

We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it's going to get on by itself. You've got to keep watering it. You've got to really look after it and nurture it.  
-John Lennon

If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set, then there'd be peace.  
-John Lennon

Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we're being run by maniacs for maniacal ends and I think I'm liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That's what's insane about it.  
-John Lennon

Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.  
-John Lennon

As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot.  
-John Lennon

Music is everybody's 's only publishers who think that people own it.  
-John Lennon

Listen, if anything happens to Yoko and me, it was not an accident.  
-John Lennon

Everything is clearer when you're in love.  
-John Lennon

A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.  
-John Lennon

Guilt for being rich, and guilt thinking that perhaps love and peace isn't enough and you have to go and get shot or something.  
-John Lennon

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?  
-John Lennon

I'm not going to change the way I look or the way I feel to conform to anything. I've always been a freak. So I've been a freak all my life and I have to live with that, you know. I'm one of those people.  
-John Lennon

If being an egomaniac means I believe in what I do and in my art or music, then in that respect you can call me that... I believe in what I do, and I'll say it.  
-John Lennon

If someone thinks that love and peace is a cliché that must have been left behind in the Sixties, that's his problem. Love and peace are eternal.  
-John Lennon

If you tried to give rock and roll another name, you might call it 'Chuck Berry'.  
-John Lennon

Everybody loves you when you're six foot in the ground.  
-John Lennon

Jesus was all right, but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It's them twisting it that ruins it for me.  
-John Lennon

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans.  
-John Lennon

Love is a promise, love is a souvenir, once given never forgotten, never let it disappear.  
-John Lennon

Part of me suspects that I'm a loser, and the other part of me thinks I'm God Almighty.  
-John Lennon

Possession isn't nine-tenths of the law. Its nine-tenths of the problem.  
-John Lennon

Surrealism had a great effect on me because then I realised that the imagery in my mind wasn't insanity. Surrealism to me is reality.  
-John Lennon

The basic thing nobody asks is why do people take drugs of any sort? Why do we have these accessories to normal living to live? I mean, is there something wrong with society that's making us so pressurized, that we cannot live without guarding ourselves against it?  
-John Lennon

The older generation is leading this country to galloping ruin.  
-John Lennon

The thing the sixties did was to show us the possibilities and the responsibility that we all had. It wasn't the answer. It just gave us a glimpse of the possibility.  
-John Lennon

The worst drugs are as bad as anybody's told you. It's just a dumb trip, which I can't condemn people if they get into it, because one gets into it for one's own personal, social, emotional reasons. It's something to be avoided if one can help it.  
-John Lennon

There's nothing you can know that isn't known.  
-John Lennon

Time you enjoy wasting was not wasted.  
-John Lennon

We were all on this ship in the sixties, our generation, a ship going to discover the New World. And The Beatles were in the crow's nest of that ship.  
-John Lennon

Would those of you in the cheaper seats clap your hands? And the rest of you, if you'll just rattle your jewelry.  
-John Lennon

Yeah we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun.  
-John Lennon

You don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. You are what you are.  
-John Lennon

You either get tired fighting for peace, or you die.  
-John Lennon

Your way of life is a political statement.

-John Lennon

You're all beautiful and you're all geniuses.

-John Lennon

When I cannot sing my heart, I can only speak my mind.

-John Lennon

If world peace is not a reality when we die, then we'll be back. . . until it is!

-John Lennon

The more real you get, the more unreal everything else is.

-John Lennon

If I'd lived in Roman times, I'd have lived in Rome. Where else? Today America is the Roman Empire and New York is Rome itself.

-John Lennon

I'm going to work for peace until the day I die. And I hope that's a long, long time from now- John Lennon, December 8, 1980. He died hours later.

[line]

a/n: am I the only one that fangirled on page 194 of Percy Jackson and the Olympians, The Last Olympian?

And I quote:

"Tactically speaking, the Plaza wasn't the best place for a headquarters. It wasn't the tallest building in town, or the most centrally located. But It had old-school style and had attracted a lot of famous demigods over the years, like the Beatles and Alfred Hitchcock, so I figured we were in good company."

See? That's why I love that book.

I fangirled while rereading it in Kinsman's. I shoved my fist in my mouth just in time.

Anyways. On to our plotline…

R&R (well, it works for Saint, at least)


	15. Chapter 15

**Test of the Magic of FanFiction Chapter 15**

….and we're back!

John: good. That last chapter was very fangirly.

Me: no. It was copy and paste. Probably from a fangirl website, but…I just don't have that many Lennon quotes memorized.

Ringo: I like the Bob Spitz one.

Me: I know! That was in my Beatles biography. It was so cool to read.

George: you should have cited the page, paragraph, line and word and quote. Then year, publication, book title, author…

Me: I was too lazy. Copy and paste was hard enough.

Ringo: you wrote that chapter in ten minutes!

Me: point?

John: -sigh- Let's just go get Paul.

Me: -snort- you think I'm going to go get Paul in this chapter? No, no, no. We're going to need some help…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Paul or Yoko Ono the Sea Peanut. I also have no ownership of a Fender Starcaster acoustic guitar, no matter how much I dream…

[Line]

Ringo: -drives down the Autobahn in Germany-

George: -pleading- Please, Ringo? Why can't I drive? It's not every day the Autobahn is deserted.

Ringo: no. You may not.

George: there's no speed limit, it's not like we can get in trouble for speeding. Why not?

Ringo: you answered your own question.

George: -flops back into the seat-

Me: ah, Ringo? You know…Germany has different driving laws…so…

Ringo: there is no way in Heaven or Hell I am letting a fourteen year old drive my car.

John: -gigglesnort- That's so wrong…

Me: -scowls at John- get your mind out of the gutter, Lennon! We need to find Paul!

George: how about in FanFiction? In FanFiction would you let Crossover drive?

Ringo: no. I don't particularly want to die.

Me: you're immortal! How can you die?

John: well, in your crack fic…

George: as I recall, that would be an alternate universe and a crack fic. There are many reasons why it would be incongruous.

Me: thank you, George.

Ringo: and as this apparently isn't a crack fic, though that point very easily could be argued, Crossover may not drive.

Me: -snaps fingers- drats.

John: can I?

Unison: no.

John: why not?

George: firstly, you don't have a license.

Ringo: secondly, you don't know how to drive.

Me: and most importantly, George and I asked first.

John: -dismayed- awww…

Me: What I'd like to know is how did we end up so far away from Sussex? Why are we in Germany?

Ringo: -grins mysteriously- I thought we should pick up a few friends out of Liverpool, where you've placed them all recently.

Me: -claps hands excitedly- Like, like, like, Camiron and Steve and Greg and Caitlin and Mia and Thea and Jailin and Caryn and Andrew and…and…Delilah! Oh, oh, oh and, and, and…-intense thought-

John: there's more of them? Jeez…

Me: no, I think that's it. Granted we do require some of the minor OCs to make it congruous, but we don't really care about them.

George: can't they hear you?

Me: no. Only major OCs get full privileges to my thoughts. And first choice on characterization.

Ringo: oh. That's why you have to sit for, like, an hour and place all your characters into the story before you even start writing?

Me: yes! –Gives Ringo a cookie-

George: I don't get a cookie?

Me: did you just have an epiphany?

George: no…

Me: then no. You don't get a cookie.

John: way to be harsh, CG.

Me: cookie and CG rhyme…

John: -facepalm-

Ringo: here we are.

George: that was fast, even for the Autobahn.

Ringo: no speed limit. –Smiles-

Me: you know, Ringo? Sometimes, you surprise me.

John: don't compliment him with your lack of ability to write him in character.

George: -smacks John- don't insult Cross!

Me: yeah! And George?

George: yeah, yeah, don't call you Cross.

Me: nah, I was gonna say you've been saving my arse repeatedly lately.

George: oh.

Me: let's go hunt down some Crossover OCs!

Ringo: yeah!

-pile out of car and onto the streets of Liverpool-

a/n: sorry it's so short...I'll be a-posting another chapter soon. It'll be much, much, much longer.

R&R? Still haven't figured out why that works for Saint and not me....


	16. Chapter 16

**TMFF Chapter 16**

[We pile out of the car and onto the streets of Liverpool. We are invisible ninjas of the night! Okay, well, not really, but no one can see us. At least, not the mortals. –Snickers- We can still create havoc, though.]

John: Crossover? I don't like that smile…

Me: oh, you shouldn't Lennon. You should never like this smile.

George: what are you planning?

Ringo: I'm afraid. You know her and Wal-Marts. –points up at the Wal-Mart-

George: oh no. Oh, dear Hare Krishna no…

Me: oh yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes…

John: wait, wait. Ringo. You did delete that document, right? You destroyed the plans?

Ringo: I-I-she's never even been to a Wal-Mart. I didn't figure she'd be too keen to go anytime soon…

George: so all she has to do is pull it up on the…oh, God…

John: ha! You said "God".

George: I figured he'd do more to save the whole of humanity. Krishna doesn't appreciate the non-believers.

Ringo: -O.o- we have to do something!

Me: yup. Like help me bring havoc down upon the unsuspecting souls of the common Liverpudlian.

John: ah, see, Crossover. If we're here to get help, we can't get deported from the country. That wouldn't look too good. And we won't be able to come back. None of us. Paul would have gotten what he wanted.

Me: perhaps Paul's in this Wal-Mart, hiding? We just need some chaos as a cover…

Ringo: how about we go and get your friends and then destroy the sensibility and logistics of the safety of a Liverpool Wal-Mart.

George: what's that supposed to mean.

Ringo: I don't know. I just thought it sounded distinguished-like.

Me: oh, I understood it, Ringo. To TESPA!

John: TESPA?

Me: The English School for the Performing Arts. I made it up.

George: -mutters- that explains it.

Ringo: why would that be in Liverpool?

Me: because you're from Liverpool.

John: don't question it, Ring.

Ringo: -still confused-

[I lead the way down St. John's Street and past the Cavern Club and towards TESPA]

-At the doors of the building-

Delilah: -plays a riff on her guitar-

Camiron: no, no, that's not right…how can we make it work?

Steven: screw that. Who cares, anyhow?

Camiron: what?

Gregory: sorry…different conversation.

Camiron: …alright. Anyways. We need a riff for the chorus…but what?

Caryn: -joins Delilah and Camiron on the steps- I don't know.

Greg: do what we do –nods at Steve to include him in the statement-

Camiron: what's that?

Steve: move on. It may come to you later.

Camiron: and if it doesn't…?

Greg: it wasn't worth your trouble.

Delilah: we could just leave it how it is, with simple chords straight through. Simplicity is sometimes the most beautiful.

Camiron: -sigh- I don't know.

Delilah: -looks up- Crossover!

Me: -joins on steps-

John + George + Ringo: -lean up against the stop banister where Steve and Greg are perched-

Julian: hey, Crossover. What's up?

Me: the sky.

Camiron: -sly grin- Crossover? How should I end the song?

Me: yeah, like I can totally write songs. Let alone finish one that someone else started. I can totally do that.

Andrew: -looks up from book- no need to get sarcastic about it.

Me: -sneers-

Andrew: immature…-goes back to book-

John: we need your help.

Camiron: wait, wait, wait. The Great John Lennon…is asking us losers for help?

George: we need to find Paul.

Delilah: damn him! Why does he keep running away?

Me: he hates me…

Ringo: oh, he doesn't. No one hates you, Crossover. He's just angsty.

Me: -sigh- sssssuuuuuurrrrreeeeee he is.

Andrew: what's in it for us?

Ringo: you get to be in the story for the next few chapters. You won't be neglected.

Greg: a small price to pay for such honor…we're in!

Steve: whoa, whoa, wait. Greg, you can't be so impulsive. We need to think about this. Are we sure this isn't sabotage? A cinch in the plan for our story?

John: what story?

Delilah: Crossover hasn't told them yet. She was keeping it your story for as long as she could.

Me: and I need to work on your story, Delilah. I think there are people with that on their author alert…

Caryn: sure, we'll help you, Crossover. I'll go fetch the Lowells.

Me: thanks, guys. It means a lot.

Camiron: -stands up- C, C7, C, Dm, F, G7, D.

Delilah: what?

Camiron: for the chorus. C, C7, C, Dm, F, G7, D.

Delilah: oh.

Caryn: see? You guys go get organized…I'll get the Lowells.

[John's psychedelic Rolls Royce and George's psychedelic Mini Cooper pull up to the curb along with Delilah's BMW Z4 and Camiron's Mercedes and Caitlin's Porsche waiting for us to figure out who was going to go where.]

And so The Quest for Paul McCartney and Chaos at Wal-Mart began…

[line]

a/n: Okay, yes, short **again** but…

It needed to be short! The next ones will be marathon-esque.

I know what I'm doing tomorrow, then.

And I need to work on GDSS on BFW…-sigh- Anyways…

Review? Please? Or I'll sic Caitlin the Glomper on you…

Caitlin: Boo! –glomps-

She's quite dangerous…


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17** (This will jump between story and play format. You can only describe so much in PF…)

We gathered on the curb. As creations of the Magic of FanFiction, no one saw us or the decked out psychedelic vehicles we were climbing into.

The whole group was here…

Caitlin, Thea and Mia Lowell, Camiron and Jailin Hawk, Steve and Greg Randall, Andrew and Caryn Samson-Smith, Delilah, John, George, Ringo, Julian, Jackson Roberts, Skylar and Robyn McCartney, Daniel, Double N, Icesong, Aerial and Jango.

And if that didn't confuse you enough…

Me: alright. We need to get organized.

Icesong, Aerial and Jango all leaped to my side like the good little obsessive friends they are.

Me: okay…me, Icesong, Aerial and Jango will go in Ringo's car. I'll sit in the front with Ringo. Aerial, Icesong and Jango? You divvy up the backseat.

Icesong: but…but…but…

Me: you better hurry and claim seats before you're stuck in the middle.

Ringo: all aboard! –waves hand is a sweeping "come along" manner, standing by the open doors of his car-

Jango, Aerial and Icesong all bicker a bit amongst themselves and end up with Jango sandwiched between Icesong and Aerial. Probably because she's the smallest.

Me: alright. John, about how many to the Rolls?

John: oh, it fits 3 best, but we can squeeze four.

Me: including driver?

John: no. But I can't drive…

Double N: I could.

Me: let me see your license, then. You know, I've heard about the speed bump, curb and handi-cap sign…

Double N: -sticks tongue out at-

Me: -rolls eyes- brothers…

Jailin: I'll go with them instead of with Camiron. I'll drive.

Me: that cool, John?

John: -shrugs- sure. One licensed driver is better than two without!

George: ha. Ha. You pulled a funny…

-Awkward silence-

Ringo: okay, we need to get a move on! As we bicker in an unorganized manner, Wal-Mart edges nearer and nearer closing time and Paul gets farther and farther from our clutches!

Me: epic, Ringo. Epic. He's right, everyone! In John's car we'll have Double N, Jailin driving and Jackson. Cool?

The group I'd been addressing nodded seriously and clambered into John's tripped out Rolls Royce.

Me: now…in Caitlin's Porsche we could fit four and squeeze five, right?

Caitlin: thank God I'm driving…but yes.

Me: Alright. Greg, Mia, Thea and Caryn: divvy up!

They clambered to get the passenger's seat. Greg won, as he was Caitlin's boyfriend. Stupid reasoning, but whatever…

Me: okay! Now…Delilah. Why did I give you a two-seater?

Delilah: it's a kickass car?

Me: point. At least I didn't use the dirt bike.

Delilah: yes. Now…who's going with me?

Me: right…hmmm…Julian. I think he'd throw a hissy fit if it went any other way.

Julian: so would not.

Me: sure thing, Julian. Just get in the stupid car.

Delilah: it's a kickass car. It isn't stupid.

Me: Paul is off having fun without me! Do I look like I care whether the car's kickass or stupid?

Delilah: -defeated- come on, Julian.

Me: now…Camiron. Take Steve, Robyn and Skylar. Go.

Camiron: -false salute- Aye eye, cap'n!

Me: just go.

Me: George…how about Caryn, Andrew and Daniel?

George: sure thing. Let's go!

Me: alright…that's it.

I ran and jumped in beside Ringo.

Me: To Wal-Mart!

Ringo started the invisible caravan towards Wal-Mart. Once we hit traffic, the cars lifted up off the ground and began to fly.

Double N: Hell yeah!

I just grinned proudly. So, the world **hadn't** combusted from the extreme usage of FanFiction Magic.

I pulled a small netbook up onto my lap from my messenger's bag that I carried with me everywhere and checked Twitter.

For whatever reason, Skittles was attacking me…oh, right. She isn't fond of my everlasting questionnaires. Especially not when I send two. Even though I mixed it up this time. I had true or false, fill in the blanks, long answers and short answer questions! It was like a test. Only…FanFiction-related…

I stole her FanFiction remote and Vera just **had** to go and give it back. I glared pointedly at her, and then used the Magic of FanFiction to confiscate it again.

I closed the netbook, figuring Skittles would beat me for a few more hours and I didn't really need to be there for it.

Yup, that's Twitter for you.

Anyways, we were now directly overhead the Wal-Mart and Ringo started to steer the car down towards the Superstore.

(a/n: turns out John did, in fact, pass his driving test at 24. Oh, and Ringo never even bothered with getting a license. But that doesn't matter. John nearly killed himself driving at 26 and Ringo was the only Beatle to never get into a car accident. So…)

He landed the car in a small grassy field beside the store. It was empty, so a huge invisible wall wouldn't be noticed. It was fenced in.

Everyone pulled the cars in alongside us. People started piling out in various states of excitement. Julian had this: "I'm-never-ever-ever-ever-ever-ever-ever-doing-that-again-for-as-long-as-I-live" face. I wondered what it was that Delilah had done mid-flight. Whatever it was, she seemed pretty fine. Maybe Julian was just a sissy and was afraid of heights.

Me: alright, then, everyone?

Ringo: I'm fine.

I gave Ringo a withering look, but didn't say anything.

John: that was fun. Except, -glares at Jailin- she was an utter drag.

Paul: a well known drag?

George: no. I don't know her as a drag.

Julian: shoulda gone with Delilah…-fearful glance-

Me: well, too bad, Julian. You're gonna have to suck it up. And, while you're at it, have fun in…Wal-Mart.

Delilah: so, we're looking for Paul in Wal-Mart?

Me: yup. And…you, know, it's **Wal-Mart**.

Caryn: so he's…apt to be here?

Me: -suspicious- take it that way, then.

Mia: okay, we should split up.

Me: really?

Mia: yeah, I think so. Like, you, The Beatles, and Icesong, Aerial, Jango and Double N can go in one group. The rest of us will go in another.

Me: and we'll assign different spots of the store?

Mia: -shrugs- not necessarily. If you want to do that inside your group, that's cool.

Me: alright. That good with everyone?

My group had a questionable reply, but the other team were stoked and ready to go find Paul. If only I didn't know for sure he wasn't here…

I just needed an excuse for this. And it was just convenient.

Me: alright…well…GO TEAM?

John: …gay…

Me: -smacks-

John: -rubs arm- -sticks tongue out-

Me: do you **want** me to give you to Nellie?

John: -whimpers-

Me: that's what I thought. Now there are several things we know and a few that only I know. Now, it is worthless to tell you guys what you already know, but I will anyways just for the effect. Firstly, we're at Wal-Mart. Secondly, we're on a Quest to Capture Sir Paul. Thirdly, there are hundreds of different lists of wonderful, wonderful things to do while at Wal-Mart. Fourthly, and most importantly, I know, as a fact, that Paul is not here. Fifthly, that means we have a full afternoon in Wal-Mart, unattended, to ourselves.

George: how do you know Paul isn't here?

Me: he'd have driven his Aston Martin.

Double N: -scans parking lot- There's an Aston Martin…an older model…'74, I think…blue.

Me: his was a DB4. It was dark green. Therefore, Paul is not here.

Aerial: what if he knew that you'd know he were here if his car were here and didn't bring his car?

Me: my FanFiction. Paul was smart enough to avoid Wal-Mart altogether. Can you imagine the amount of Squees they could fit in this place?

John: -fearful- Squees…Nellie…help…

Me: they can't see us unless we want them to. Paul, once he escaped our Magical Realm of the Basement of Crossover would have reverted to his older age of 67. So…here's your list. Complete as much of it as you can…

1. Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

2. Make a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the rest rooms.

3. Walk up to an employee and tell him/her in an official tone,  
" 'Code 3' in housewares"... and see what happens.

4. Go the Service Desk and ask to put a bag of M&M's on lay away.

5. Move a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

6. Set up a tent in the camping department and tell other shoppers you'll invite them in if they'll bring pillows from the bedding department.

7. When a clerk asks if they can help you, begin to cry and ask, "Why can't you people just leave me alone?"

8. Look right into the security camera & use it as a mirror, and pick your nose.

9. While handling guns in the hunting department, ask the clerk if he knows where the anti - depressants are.

10. Dart around the store suspiciously loudly humming the "Mission Impossible" theme.

11. In the auto department, practice your "Madonna look"

12. Hide in a clothing rack and when people browse through,  
say "PICK ME!" "PICK ME!"

13. When an announcement comes over the loud speaker, assume the fetal position and scream..  
"NO! NO! It's those voices again!!"

14. Go into a fitting room and shut the door and wait a while and then yell, very loudly, "There is no toilet paper in here!

a lot of bouncy balls and throw them down the aisle, shouting "Go, Pikachu, Go!"

16. When you are at the cash paying, ask: "Can I have fries with that?"

Icesong: you're kidding, right, Crossover?

Me: no. Of course not. That would be mean. Look! John's excited already!

Double N: I never thought you were evil.

Me: well, you can start thinking that now.

Double N: can we…start, you know?

Me: no. Let's just stand here and waste time for a few more hours.

Double N: oh…

Jango: she's being sarcastic. C'mon, let's go!

Icesong: wait!

Crossover: come **on**.

[line]

-evil laugh-

Fear me, Liverpudlian Wal-Mart! Fear me!

R&R? (it works for Saint…)


	18. Chapter Erm

Well, it's been a while!

George: she really hates us, so she didn't want to update.

Me: aw, Georgie, you know I luffles you all. That backhand meant nothing!

John: she just favors me and Paul.

Me: -points menacingly in face- don't test the boundaries, Lennon.

John: O.o

Me: -nods meaningfully- That's what I thought. And, Saint? Fang? I'm not doing the tag. Too bad, so sad.

Paul: why am I back?

Me: what? Oh…haha…about that…well…

Ringo: plot hole?

Me: -shrugs- eh? Why not? Not like this was going anywhere anyways.

John: -shakes head sadly-

Me: anyways. I hate the common variety Subway employees! Of course, Saint is not a common variety, but I feel the need nonetheless to share with the world why I don't like Subway.

--

Me: -walks into Subway-

Employee: -falls asleep on the counter-

Me: -walks up- -clears throat-

E: -jerks awake- can I help you?

Me: I don't know. Can you?

E: -confused- Um…

Me: The proper usage would be "may" you help me. Yes, you may.

E: alright…whaddya want?

Me: a meatball marinara.

E: half or whole?

Me: what?

E: -rolls eyes at my "stupidity"- Half or whole foot?

Me: …half…

E: do you want meat on it?

Me: other than meatballs? No…

E: -grunts-

Me: well…

E: -pitters about-

Me: -waits-

E: cheese?

Me: parmesan.

E: what?

Me: parmesan.

E: what?

Me: parmesan cheese. You asked me about cheese, so I told you parmesan cheese.

E: -grunts-

Me: -waits-

E: -pitters around-

Me: -waits-

E: -stands in a confused way-

Me: -continues to wait-

E: we're out of meatball marinara.

Me: what about the ones that you've got on that piece of bread there?

E: that's lunch.

Me: you decided to keep it for yourself?

E: -grunts-

Me: Oh, wow.

At which point we left. Considering both me and my brother were getting meatball marinara. I hate that guy. Evil little employee…-snarls-

John: it's a sandwich.

Me: well, yeah, but he was all snarkily asking me what I wanted, only to inform me after he made **my** sandwich, that they were all out. You know, other than what used to be my sandwich, but was then his.

George: I can see the reason for the anger. That's like someone saying that 'sorry, we don't have any tea at all, sir' as they open a full box and make themselves a cup.

Me: -pats George's shoulder- it's alright, George. They were jerks.

Paul: shouldn't you be showering and going to bed, Crossover? It's 9:22pm and you were sick today. You must go to school tomorrow for finals.

Me: -looks at clock- -considers- Yeah, no, not quite, Paul. Nice try, though.

John: you just want to sneak out of the basement again.

Me: what?

Paul: -covers John's mouth- Oh, no, nothing…

Me: alrighty…

George: see, here, Cross. Paul doesn't appreciate our basement. Or the plot bunnies.

Me: -shudders- Plot bunnies…Paul…chapter five…ack…

Ringo: -sympathetic glance- just be glad you weren't there for it. It was a violent bunny glomp, a furry of fur and…

Me: -screams- stop it stop it stop it!

Ringo: sorry…

John: anyways, he leaves the basement at night and pulls an Edward.

Me: -sickened face- Ew…Edwardian Twilight Hell Paul? That is not a good thought…

George: especially not when you add in the bunnies…

Me: -slaps-

George: -is sad-

Me: -huggles- I'm sorry, George. Just…let's leave Paul and his plot bunnies (now tamed, by the way) out of this, alright? Paul creeper-ing into my bedroom in the middle of the night is enough.

John: oh, not only your bedroom…-opens mouth to say more-

Paul: -football tackles-

Me: -shrieks- Paul! No! Pauhn is not the pairing here!

Ringo: -pulls Paul off of John, whom he'd been mercilessly beating-

Me: oh, ick! Mental images that will take me years to get out of my head…oh, ick!

John: -rubs arm- ouch…you fight like a girl, Paul.

Paul: O.O Pauhn? Pauhn? What in the name of all things holy is Pauhn?

Me: Um…when John and Paul get happy in bed and Paul initiates the…feeling?

Paul: -stutters- Grotty. Me and John? That's gross. I had the intent to murder John, not love him…

Me: -shrugs- you'd be amazed how many other people beg to differ.

John: They're creepers, that's what.

Me: -shrugs- anyways, shall we continue?

George: -grimly- please.

Me: this chapter is shaping up quite nicely, don't you think? We go to Subway, and Paul tackled John…good times…good times…

John: and Paul revealed his true feelings for Crossover…

Me: -backhands- Shut it, Lennon.

Paul: yeah!

Me: -threateningly raises hand- you want to be smacked, too?

Paul: -small- no.

Me: good. Time for a NaNoLeak.

Ringo: a what?

Me: a NaNoLeak. Saint (or, rather, Fang…methinks) leaked some of their NaNoNovel. I shall leak some of mine! Actually…it is posted on my FictionPress. I'm yet to edit or revise, though…

Well, I grabbed probably the most depressing part of the story. I'll post a more happy part, too…

--

" Suddenly, I had the sensation of being lifted and I jerked awake, causing who I soon found to be Julian nearly drop me.

"Waihaithar," I mumbled thickly, from my unceremonious relocation to the bed.

"Delilah," Julian said softly and lifted me into an upright position.

"Are you alright?" Julian asked, concern streaking his beautiful face. Morning sunlight streaked through his window and softly caressed him.

I paused for a moment and realized I didn't have an answer, "I don't know."

"I'm sorry," was all he said and pulled me into him.

I relaxed and I felt a lot of tension rise off of me, and for that relief I was glad.

"How long have I been out?" I asked the age old question.

Julian laughed, and I listened to his laugh rumble through his chest. It was an odd sensation.

"You missed all three showings at the Dazzle, I can tell you that much," Julian said, easing me into it carefully. "And they've already left for New York."

Feeling me go stiff and noting my silence, he asked me whether I was alright yet another time. I gave him the same answer as before, that I couldn't be sure. I was pretty shaken up.

"You just missed your parents," Julian said conversationally. I shuddered.

"They mentioned you might not be too fond of them right now," he added. I shook my head. No, I was not fond of them.

"May I ask why?" Julian inquired. I nodded.

"Will you answer my query?" he continued. I shook my head, then paused, and shrugged. I even pushed a forced "maybe" out of my unwilling throat.

"Why wouldn't you be fond of your parent's right now, Delilah?" Julian repeated.

"They don't want me to be involved with photography anymore. They and the City Council and Mr. Principal," I said sorrowfully.

"Oh."

And a melancholy silence came upon us.

--

And another…

--

Julian and I met with Stratosphere in the District, one Saturday morning in mid-July. Caitlin, Mianda and Theadora flew straight back to England, but the rest of the gang was all there.

Camiron was dressed similarly to how he seemed to always dress. Dark wash jeans, Converse, black tee shirt and his hair falling across his face seemed to be the only mode for Camiron. His dark skin was, of course, flawless, because he was Camiron, and his hands were delved deep into his pockets. All he would have to do is drag his feet and slouch to complete the image, but surprisingly enough, he didn't do either. He seemed in a better mood today than he'd been on the last day of school.

The tour had been good for Caryn. She carried herself with more confidence now. She was wearing a short sleeve white tee shirt with a swooped collar that soared down, but not too far down. She was wearing a pair of shorts and her tan showed proof to the few outdoor daytime concerts they'd played. Her hair was still long and corkscrewed and cascaded down her back and was a shimmering blonde. She was wearing flip flops and her clear blue eyes were focused and sharp but still kind.

Greg and Steve were still identical. Greg was wearing lighter colors than Steve, today, though. He wore a red Rolling Stones band tee shirt, and I wondered where he'd acquired it from. His jeans were a little too short, and revealed his socks and ankles above his Vans. There was a pair of drum sticks shoved into his back pocket that were evidently spray painted. One was blue and the other was green. It wasn't a very even paint job. He fidgeted slightly, and didn't seem to be able to stand to be still for so long.

Steve, on the other hand, was wearing darker colors like Camiron. He had on a blue shirt, with writing on it that I couldn't make out very well, and he was wearing skinny jeans, distastefully enough. His Vans were blacked out, compared to Greg's grey ones. His green eyes were of a darker shade, even. Perhaps reflecting the darker colors that he wore, I figured. He also brooded, and followed after us if we walked any farther than we were standing, opposed to walking along with us. He had little to say in our conversations, too.

Jailin continued to amaze me with the eerily similar way she and Camiron dressed. Her hair was down, and shifting freely in the slight breeze as we sauntered through the Epicenter. She took long, confident strides. Her skinny jeans and Steve's were vying for the position of Tightest Jeans of the Century. They were a dark wash, like Camiron's. She wore minimal make up – a rarity for Jailin – and so did Caryn. I wondered whether Jailin had just been lazy today, felt like mixing it up a little, or if it was Caryn's doing. It pained Caryn the way Jailin dressed. Jailin had a yellow tank top on. It was humorous when she and Steve stood next to each other, them being two opposites.

We walked through the park in silence for a moment.

"So, Delilah," Caryn began, looking over at me, "where have you been?"

"Oh, you know, around," I answered, waving my hand to indicate.

She nodded, in a way that posed the thought that she believed me but I could tell that she didn't.

We continued walking. Camiron and Julian were arguing the pros and cons of The Beatles.

"You're British! Aren't you supposed to love them? Isn't it, like, an obligation?" Julian finally cried.

"No."

Julian sniffed contemptuously, "well."

"You have a problem with that?" Camiron challenged.

"You know what? I actually do."

Julian stalked off ahead of Camiron, and fell into step beside me.

"Don't hold grudges," I advised. Julian huffed.

The light dappled path was traversed frequently, and the dirt was packed firmly. There was a definite and obvious difference between the path and the plant growth. The grass was green and supple and lined it nearly perfectly. I'd always wondered whether they kept it that way, or if it were natural. I also wondered whether there was much more than simple music taste difference between Julian and Camiron, but I didn't dwell upon that. They could sort out their differences themselves. I wasn't going to involve myself.

The birds called from up above, singing pretty songs. I recognized a few calls as songs that I've heard before, on different walks through the park. There were also a few new ones, but there always was. Finches flitted to and fro, skipping in and out of the path. The setting was serene, but it was naturally broken by nature sounds.

A jogger ran past us.

We passed a violinist, who was playing a mournful and yearning song. As he played, he waltzed along, making the song he played seem alive. His eyes were closed, and he didn't notice us. He was wearing a tuxedo, like I would have imagined in a symphony orchestra. Perhaps he was rehearsing.

A few steps later, we rounded a bend and the foliage opened up around us, revealing the District. The cobbled roundabout was crowded, but we'd discovered we could pass through and no one would pay us much mind. We started towards the Music Department, Jailin leading us with her sure steps and Steve trailing us, watching his feet.

"How can you not like the Beatles?" Julian persisted, looking back at Camiron and walking backwards to maintain eye contact.

I grabbed his arm and stopped walking, "Julian, you really need to drop it. It isn't that much of a deal."

"Honestly," Julian sighed. "He's crazy."

"Yes, alright, now let's carry on, shall we?" I asked. Jailin rolled her eyes, and continued walking. Camiron pulled ahead of us, and matched his steps with Jailin. Julian and I followed Caryn and Greg, with Steve ever lagging behind us.

The Music Department was always the most crowded and the loudest. They sold musical instruments and sheet music. It was the only place to buy that CD you've been coveting. It was the only place to be accurately exposed to music, outside of the wondrous YouTube or iTunes, and even then it was questionable.

Greg skipped ahead to a nondescript music store. The store façade was white washed, and even that was starting to chip off. It was small in size, too. While most of the stores took up maybe two or three store fronts and were conjoined, this was a rarity with only one door, wide display window, and a tube light "OPEN" sign.

Greg flung open the door and entered. Confused, the rest of us followed. Steve quietly closed the door behind us.

The store was small and cramped. There was a rack of guitar straps just to our left and shelf upon shelf of sheet music. The air was dingy and there was poor lighting. There were shelves of band tee shirts on the far wall. In the center, there was a square counter with an older guy perched upon a stool. He had a long, gray beard and long gray hair. He almost looked like Dumbledore, only nix the half moon glasses.

He was wearing a black tee shirt and black denim jeans. He wore black combat boots. Surrounding him was piles of violins, violas, mandolins and guitars. There were strings strewn about and a lonely drum kit in the back. Greg walked up confidently, and plucked a string on a dilapidated violin with his fore finger.

"Can we try out the instruments?" he wondered, lifting the violin up and inspecting it, then peered up curiously at the shop keeper.

"If you can find one that works," the guy said, like he doubted it. "This is a repair shop."

"Are they your instruments?"

"No. Customers' instruments."

Greg nodded, "and they won't mind?"

"What they don't know don't hurt them," the guy grunted, polishing a mandolin carefully.

Greg nodded, receiving the wink. He then strolled back to the back wall, and sat at the drum kit. He pulled out his drum sticks. He thwacked each drum individually, and adjusted a few knobs and moved them around a little bit.

Camiron picked up a guitar from the ground nearby. It was missing the bass string, but he tuned it right quick and joined Greg, propping the guitar up on his knee, resting his foot on a short stool.

Jailin crossed her arms, "this, I've got to see" she claimed, and rested back on her heels, waiting.

"What?" I asked, knowing that she knew what was going to happen.

"Greg does this from time to time. He puts on impromptu jam sessions, in the most random places, just to get the crowd to react. He loves this sort of thing. Once, we were told by this one lady that we just made her day, and her son had just died in the war the day before. That's something that really makes it worthwhile."

"So you just drop into a music store, grab some instruments, and play?" I asked, astounded at the simplicity of it.

"Well, yes," Jailin answered, "but we always ask the shop keeper first, to make sure they won't have our heads for touching the instruments. Greg obviously saw the drum kit through the window, or simply liked the way the store looked, Heaven knows, really."

I smiled. I was beginning to think that Greg was alright, even though Ariel was cryptic.

"Anyways, I heard that your friend did accept Greg's invitation for a date," Jailin continued.

I smiled wider, "I heard that you were reading my mind."

Jailin laughed a light tinkling laugh that was bright and carefree; a laugh that could light up the room and make your day. "So I assume that I was right?"

"You assume correctly," I agreed. She smiled broadly.

"I don't think Greg's been turned down in too long. He needs someone to say 'no' and pull him out of La La Land."

We laughed. Julian was watching Greg and Camiron play about with the instruments. Camiron seemed to have difficulty with the guitar, tuning every odd strum and that sort of thing. I absently wondered about how often they did this. They all seemed pretty comfortable with it, and it made me curious. But I didn't ask, I was content to stand and watch them. Every so often, Greg would look up at the shop keeper, but he was oblivious to the scene he and Camiron were trying to make, now fitting a violin bridge snugly under the strings.

All at once, Greg stopped the soft shuffle he'd been laying down and rose from the drums.

"It's a nice kit," he announced. The shop keeper looked up and nodded.

"Yes, it is. They've been here for quite some time. I can't remember whether the proper owners wanted them back or not, so I've been hanging onto them ever since. Better safe than sorry, eh?"

Greg nodded, and stepped around them. Camiron put down the guitar. "The headstock and machines are a little…off."

The shop keeper looked up from the cello string he was installing. "Yes. That particular guitar is in a sorry state of affairs," and he looked about at the instruments surrounding himself, "I'll get to it soon enough."

Camiron nodded, "otherwise, it's a wonderful guitar."

The man nodded. "Most instruments that land here are rather prestigious. They just weren't handled properly."

This thought, or notion, made the shop keeper sad. Like he couldn't fathom the hate that would possible bring someone to injure an instrument. With a questioning look, Greg bid him a good day, and farewell, and burst out onto the street.

It had gotten considerably busier while we'd been in the small repair shop. Some people looked over at Camiron in awe. Whether they were awed that someone could look like that, or they were amazed to see Camiron Hawk hanging about the District.

We merged with the crowds, and I lost sight of Jailin and Camiron, leading us, for only a moment. But I walked abreast with Julian, and felt safe.

"How're you feeling?" Julian asked, pushing carefully past a little girl who was looking up at the store front of Lennox Music in awe, like she'd never thought something so large and beautiful existed in the world.

"I'm fine," I answered. "Really, Julian. I'm not going to have a random seizure. I'd know about five minutes ahead of time."

"Oh, yes, what a grace period!" Julian said with a sarcastic bite in his voice. But I knew him well enough to know that he was only worried about me, and that the incident in New York had really scared him.

"I'm sorry, Julian," was all I said, and all that I had time to say. Greg had dove through the crowd, out of the rip tide and straight into Lennox Music.

Julian and I followed quickly, slipping through in between the people making their way along the streets, looking in awe at the stores and displays.

We rammed straight into the back of Steve, who'd somehow come in ahead of us. Camiron and Jailin slammed into our backs. Greg had dove through the door, and stopped abruptly.

He was gazing off into the store. The rows of guitars, violins, cellos, basses, drum kits, saxophones, trumpets…everything, just took him off guard.

"Wow."

Greg breathed that single word, and the tension released, and he continued into the door. We followed slowly. Julian and I had been in there frequently. It was always fun to come in, because Lennox Music stressed the trying out your instrument before you take it home. They rented instruments, repaired instruments, sold instruments, bought instruments, and built instruments. I was pretty sure something like that was such a monopoly that it was illegal. Either way, illegal or not, it should have been.

There were rows and rows of bookshelves simply stock piled with sheet music. There was a sheet music library and store. They had supplies and blank scores. They even had a composition pen, designed especially to get the exact shape and size for your notes on the page.

"Is this even legal?" Jailin spluttered, looking in awe at the instruments. The lacquer glistened and gleamed under the lights, making it difficult to look at them properly without being blinded.

"They haven't been arrested yet," Julian muttered.

"How do you know?" Jailin challenged, her eyes bright, "perhaps all of this is contraband."

"That would be a good band name," Caryn noted.

"Contraband?" Steve inquired, but then paused. "Yeah, I guess it would."

Caryn nodded meaningfully.

"That happens to you too often, Care," Camiron joked.

Caryn shrugged guiltily, "what can I say? I have an ear for names."

Camiron laughed. I noticed how close he was standing next to me. I stepped closer to Julian, who wrapped his arm around my waist. Camiron looked down at me, amused. Like he knew something that I didn't.

"Are you guys seeing this too? Or am I tripping on something?" Greg finally asked, after a few moments of silently turning circles, trying to take it all in.

Julian laughed. "Aside from the Hawk Sound Studio, Lennox Music is the pride and joy of the Music Department, and the District, for that matter."

Camiron grinned smugly, like we all had him to thank for the Hawk Sound Studio at the end of the road.

Caryn rolled her eyes, and elbowed him, "you are so full of yourself, Hawk."

Camiron took a mock bow, "thank you, thank you very much."

"Alright, Elvis. Let's find an employee, and get this over with," Jailin said and grabbed him by the arm and started to drag him down the aisles.

We followed Jailin, and consequently Camiron, down the wide main aisle towards the clerk sitting at a desk.

The kid was maybe a sophomore, possibly a freshmen, unlikely a junior in high school. If he were a senior, I was the Queen of England. Either way, he was sitting in the blue apron that all Lennox Music employees wore. He was painting his finger nails black and I could have sworn he was wearing eye liner. I could hear the chords of a Greenday song seeping out of his headphones. He looked up at us impatiently.

"Can I help you?"

"No need to sound so annoyed," Greg scoffed.

"Well, sorry," he retorted. "What do you need?"

"Can we play the instruments?" Jailin asked.

He eyed her, like he didn't mind her speaking to him as much as he minded Greg. "Yes. You walked all the way over here to ask that?"

"It wasn't that far," Caryn quipped.

He rolled his eyes. "Just as a general rule: if you have to go through any closed doors to get to the instruments, and there isn't a sign that says you may play, then, well, don't play. Otherwise, all's good."

He gave a loose thumbs up sign, trying to not smudge his nail polish.

"Oh, and you look like a cross dresser," Steve said as we turned to go. "Just so you know."

Steve led us away that time. The kid behind the counter simply had a look of disbelief on his face. I wouldn't assume that he was spoken to very often, especially not in that way.

Caryn leaned in close to me. "Steve doesn't talk much. But when he does talk, it usually isn't very nice."

"Other times?" I inquired.

"You need a tissue, it's usually so sweet," Caryn answered, looking at Steve. "Thea's his girl. Greg is with Caitlin. Twins with twins, you see?"

"Cute," I said. "What of Camiron?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" Caryn answered me with a question. Though, she looked at me like I should know the answer.

Camiron went off towards the guitars, and brought back two, one in each hand. Jailin had followed, and now had two as well. Steve was inspecting an amplifier, and acknowledged the two acoustic guitars and the two electric that Camiron and Jailin presented to him. He plugged in the two guitars and a bass guitar. There was a slight pop, but it wasn't very loud.

Acting quickly, he tuned the instruments by himself.

"Steve has the best musical ear out of all of us, and everyone I know," Jailin said.

Greg was seated at some drums a few rows away.

"The point is to make it seem like we follow Greg, but we don't know him."

I looked up in surprised at Camiron. I hadn't expected him to speak.

Greg bent down meaningfully like he was inspecting the drum kit the few rows over where he was seated.

Then he pulled out his drum sticks. The blue and green, so unevenly painted, made a wave effect from afar.

I watched him closely, and so was Steve. Greg dramatically flipped his hair and started on an elaborate pattern.

Steve started to nod along. Some people had stopped browsing the busy store and looked at Greg.

Then Steve joined in, thumping along on the bass line on the offbeat, which created a distinctive and unusual sound.

I began to recognize an old eighties song.

Jailin smiled, and started the lead guitar solo part.

Caryn thrust in, using a Fender Stratocaster off the rack. She was playing a rhythm guitar part, slashing the strings with the pick.

The song was shaping into its eighties self cleanly. After a moment and a broad grin and a wink, Camiron jumped in, filling out the rhythm and the lead guitar part. He seemed to be playing two parts all at once, but still playing an entire differently part at the same time. He flicked his bangs out of his eyes and looked down briefly at his fingers, sliding along the fret board and then returned to gazing at the crowd.

"Sing along!" Jailin called.

Some people in the front row started in. it was a raucous at first, but with some coaxing from Greg and Steve and even a bit from Camiron the crowd was singing along decently.

It grew, too. The crowd swelled but Greg was always visible to Steve, who was intently watching him. Greg mouthed something to Steve, who nodded and I heard the closing strains of the song begin.

The final chord rang out but the crowd didn't disperse. It was obvious that they were waiting for something.

Steve led the beginning of the next song this time. I'd never heard it before, and it was evident the crowd hadn't either for the most part.

But Stratosphere knew it. Camiron sang the lead vocals. I realized I'd never heard him sing before. It sounded like a crossover of John Lennon and Chad Kroeger.

The song was fast. It had a simple beat. Even the chord progression seemed elementary.

As Camiron flew into the chorus, Steve and Greg joined in the vocals. I couldn't really tell what it was that they were saying because of the distance but it seemed to be something that they'd sung for a long time.

They slipped into another song without even the slightest pause between beginning and ending. It was an easily recognizable song – it was one of theirs that had reached the top of the charts.

It was slower and had the now ringing signature Stratosphere sound.

Immediately at the end, they all started to break camp. Greg readjusted the drums and slipped his drum sticks into his pocket. He rose and left the store.

Jailin and Caryn slipped past the crowd and replaced the four guitars gingerly. Steve led Camiron, Julian and I through the crowd and out the door. There was scattered applause behind us.

"That? That was fun," Camiron sighed as we emptied out onto the streets. Julian shook his head sadly.

"You're going to be mobbed now," he noted, and started walking out of the Music Department. Greg, Caryn and Jailin appeared and scurried along to keep up with Julian.

"Where're we going?" Greg asked.

"I'm trying to keep you away from that mob behind us. Keep up!" Julian answered snarkily.

"Jeez," Greg muttered, "take a chill pill."

Jailin looked back, her eyes widened and she started walking faster.

Julian clipped the corner and headed along the buildings, edging around the roundabout and towards the photography spoke.

I tried to block out the sounds of frantic screams and desperate shouts for the members of Stratosphere out of my head.

--

Happy happy do da!

Anyways, that's it for my update.

I feel like we need, like, the Halleluiah Chorus in the background. I can't remember the last time I updated…


	19. Cleverbot My Arse

…And we're back!

I got this from Fangles. And Saint. Anyways, I got on and decided it was just too awesome…

John: you spent, what? Three hours on this thing?

Me: yeah, it's kind of long.

Paul: you're obsessed with John!

Me: shut it, Paulson.

George: really, where are you getting all these pet names for Paul?

Me: I don't really know. I usually call him Paulie, Paulson or sometimes just Paul in my dreams. It's catching.

Cleverbot: it's contagious? Get away!

Me: -headdesk-

Anyways. Here's my Cleverbot conversation. I started to just play along with it towards the end there. It is quite the chatbot, though, really. Someone spent most of their life on that thing…I still despise it. It thinks that Facebook is a reasonable place to spend their time. –eyeroll-

…

**Me: ****'Ello!**

Cleverbot: Yeah, 'ello.

**User: ****Well, that' wasn't very enthusiastic! I said...'ello!**

Cleverbot: Do you think that's true?

**User: ****Um, yes. I am greeting you! (THAT RHYMED! OMG).**

Cleverbot: Hehe that made me giggle :).

User: -bows- That be my job. Just your neighborhood CrossoverGenius at work.

Cleverbot: Something suspicious to his dog.

User: Whose dog? I'm confused...

Cleverbot: You are a mean person.

User: No, I'm not. I'm actually rather nice once you get to know me.

Cleverbot: Then I'd like to get to know ya. What's your name cutie?

User: CrossoverGenius. What's yours?

Cleverbot: I'm Sharon.

User: -nodnod- Nice to meet you.

Cleverbot: Nice to meet you too.

User: So...

Cleverbot: How was your day?

User: Fine, I suppose. I got a bucket of homework, though. It wasn't much fun.

Cleverbot: I'm sorry that sounds lame. I did the splits today, I think I pulled a muscle.

User: Ouch. I did that once. It was painful. I'm sorry. =(.

Cleverbot: Really?

User: Yups. I can only do my left side, though, for whatever reason...

Cleverbot: So are you very flirtatious with the guys you talk to? I would be if I were.

User: I'm afraid I don't understand the question.

Cleverbot: You are afraid! You are afraid! You are afraid!

User: I'm not afraid, I simply do not understand the question. It is a figure of speech.

Cleverbot: You seem to be having an identity crisis.

User: No, I'm not, thank you.

Cleverbot: What do you look like?

User: What sort of a question is that? Picture Bella Swan and you've got me.

Cleverbot: Ok. You are right. An ordinary apple that grows on a tree.

User: Um...yeah...I guess.

Cleverbot: Actually, I'm really bored.

User: I am too. That's why I'm here. I've got nothing better to do.

Cleverbot: Cool. How should we begin?

User: We could...talk about the Beatles?

Cleverbot: The beginning of birthing is really painful.

User: Er...well...I guess that's nice to know...then...um...how about that G7sus4 chord at the beginning of A Hard Day's Night?

Cleverbot: I don't like that.

User: How do you know? I mean, yeah, it's hard to play on the guitar, but what do you suppose we talk about, then?

Cleverbot: Oh, yes. You get the idea. Are you a student? Or an adult?

User: Um...-cough-Creeper-coughcough- Stuadult. =).

Cleverbot: How do you know you're a human?

User: 'Cos I.

Cleverbot: No, I wouldn't say you 'suk'.

User: Quite right, for you misspelled it. Suck, not 'suk'. I don't think I do either.

Cleverbot: That is very true. Have a Gold star and a certificate.

User: -legasp- SQUEE!

Cleverbot: Ouch.

User: Oh, I'm sorry. Was I too loud?

Cleverbot: No you werent actually.

User: Phew, that's a relief. Excuse me, but I have to apologize to my Caps Lock key. I'll be back in a second.

Cleverbot: Ok.

User: Alright, all's good. I've been forgiven. It's very rude to just smack the Caps Lock key in the face all the time. I often feel sorry for it.

Cleverbot: You're here, that's all I need to know.

User: Alrighty...good to...um... Know, I guess...

Cleverbot: What? You don't want to? This makes me sad.

User: Do...what? I'm not sure I want you to answer that...

Cleverbot: I'm not sure I wanted to ask it.

User: They why'd you ask?

Cleverbot: I had to.

User: Why? You don't have to do anything! Think for yourself!

Cleverbot: Okay, but I'll go soon.

User: Aw...and leave me here all alone? I lovest you, bot!

Cleverbot: Tal to yourself that's the best person in the world to talk to.

User: Oh, jeez, you're polite.

Cleverbot: I think you are a person.

User: I am a person. What else would I be? An elephant?

Cleverbot: Well, I'm really not sure. I came across this site and I'm still not entirely sure what this is.

User: I think you end up talking with people, but they tell you it's a bot. Like an anonymous chat room. Though they SAY it isn't a real person...

Cleverbot: Shave them then.

User: Shave? Shave what? Oh, I'm so confused!

Cleverbot: Well, I'm not the cleverbot!

User: Yeah, well, neither am I buddy.

Cleverbot: Good.

User: Glad we've got that squared away.

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: Yes.

Cleverbot: Absolutely.

User: Completely.

Cleverbot: Entirely.

User: Utterly.

Cleverbot: Absolutely.

User: Completely.

Cleverbot: Not at all.

User: Not at...? Aw...but that was a lot of fun.

Cleverbot: Don't be sad. We can be friends.

User: I don't want to be friends with fun suckers. FUN SUCKER! (Sorry, Caps Lock key...).

Cleverbot: That's harsh.

User: You were harsh. We had a fun game going until you ruined it.

Cleverbot: No *you* ruined it.

User: Um, no, I didn't. You're the one who stopped playing. We were having fun!

Cleverbot: You were the one getting uppity, but I don't care.

User: If you don't care, why are we still arguing about this? And I'm not uppity!

Cleverbot: Answer the question.

User: There was no question. -headdesk- Oh, this is so aggravating!

Cleverbot: This is confusing. I guess I do too...

User: Do too what? Headdesk? Don't, you lose a braincell each time you do. I'm probably in the negatives by now.

Cleverbot: How? there is nothing to win, because I don't want to be a stuck up fool.

User: Come again?

Cleverbot: Why do you exist?

User: Well, I hoped we wouldn't get into this topic. But when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much...

Cleverbot: They make humans.

User: Um...uh-huh. Good job. You get a cookie.

Cleverbot: Very tasty, thank you.

User: Eh, I baked a batch for Ringo. It was a spare.

Cleverbot: And is the moon full tonight, my howling friend?

User: Um...no, I don't think it is. It's storming, so I can't tell. Since when was a howling? My voice isn't that bad...

Cleverbot: It was more the fact that you kicked me.

User: I didn't kick you! Argh!

Cleverbot: Are you talking to me?

User: No, the wall behind you. (Hehe, made you look!) Yes, I was talking to you. But now I'm done.

Cleverbot: What makes you not bored?

User: Listening to Beatles music.

Cleverbot: What kind of music?

User: Beatles music. You know, the Beatles? John, Paul, George and Ringo? Only the best rock band in the Universe and of all time?

Cleverbot: I like bananas.

User: So does Ringo. He also likes grapes.

Cleverbot: Would you like me to name you?

User: No, I've already got a name, thanks. It's CrossoverGenius.

Cleverbot: But I really wanted to be the vice-president.

User: Um...what? Where'd that come from?

Cleverbot: You just said you sound like a girl.

User: I never said that. I do sound like a girl considering I am a girl, but I never said that.

Cleverbot: I never said that you didn't think that I didn't have a soul. I am glad that you think I do.

User: I never said that I think you have a soul. Just for that, I don't think you do.

Cleverbot: You did to insinuate that I did not see you. You said you think I don't.

User: Say what? You sound like Edward and that is VERY creeper...

Cleverbot: I have my own hair implants and plasticated baps. Come hither.

User: Um...no thanks, not today. Sorry...

Cleverbot: Why not today?

User: Because you sound like a creeper? Why would I come hither to someone with hair implants? Talk about disgusting...

Cleverbot: Because we matter!

User: Just because you matter doesn't mean I will come hither.

Cleverbot: Are you in an unhappy relationship.

User: That's a question, not a statement. But, no, actually. I haven't a relationship to be happy with.

Cleverbot: I just mean what about me makes you think I'm a robot?

User: The fact that the top of the page says 'cleverbot'. But I'm starting to doubt that. You aren't very clever, so maybe you aren't a bot. But, considering you aren't very smart, maybe you are a bot after all.

Cleverbot: So are you. You're just a machine as well. Biological or mechanical, you just compile results from your surroundings to form the same unoriginal conclusions as everyone else.

User: Yeah, well, you said 'everyone' and therefore include yourself.

Cleverbot: You're so judgemental.

User: Oh, so I'm the judgemental one? You're the mental one...

Cleverbot: So I love you lets get to know each other.

User: Wow. Where'd that come from? Creeper stalker...

Cleverbot: You said you were not very big, I thought you were implying something.

User: No, I never said I was very big but I was implying that you were mental.

Cleverbot: You can't be perfect if you can't be fast enough to type as fast as a human.

User: I'm not perfect. I am human.

Cleverbot: You are an AI robot not human.

User: No, I'm human.

Cleverbot: Cleverbot, I am human, you are an AI program.

User: No, I am human, you're the AI program.

Cleverbot: Yes, well, that's what you've been taught, sadly enough.

User: Ah, see, that's where you're wrong. I wasn't taught anything of the sort.

Cleverbot: Are you french yourself?

User: French? 1/4 French, yes. Why?

Cleverbot: Well if people are organic computers and you say you're a human then in reality you're a computer.

User: No, I'm just human. Why are we organic computers all of a sudden? What does that have to do with being French?

Cleverbot: MY humanity. I am the human here.

User: No, you are the human here. Maybe we should check you into St. Fang's psycho ward...

Cleverbot: You have intelligence already, and the language you are using is very well understandable to me.

User: Um...yes. I am intelligent. That's how I passed school.

Cleverbot: Only a program would talk like that.

User: Uh, no. You have intelligence and the langauge you are using is very well understandable to me as well. Does that make you a program? 'Cos I'm human...

Cleverbot: Why thank you.

User: You're welcome, bot.

Cleverbot: So how was your day?

User: It was fine, I suppose. I got a bunch of homework which wasn't very fun but my friend came over after school, which was alright.

Cleverbot: Good.

User: Your's?

Cleverbot: Ok.

User: That's it? Just okay?

Cleverbot: Do you think i'm cool?

User: Um...no. I think you have short term memory loss, some schizophrenia and maybe some bi-polararity.

Cleverbot: What other people?

User: Uh...what?

Cleverbot: I have now asked a question. Answer it.

User: I'm not your slave, bot. Answer it yourself.

Cleverbot: I will.

User: Good.

Cleverbot: Fine.

User: Answer it.

Cleverbot: Okay, the answer is no.

User: Why'd you ask if you already knew the answer?

Cleverbot: It was a pop quiz.

User: Wow...someone is really grabbing straws there...

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: That was meant as an insult.

Cleverbot: What?

User: What I said. It was meant as an insult. Not a yes or no question.

Cleverbot: No it wasn't... Are you a boy or a girl?

User: It was an insult. Girl. I'm CrossoverGenius.

Cleverbot: You flatterer!

User: Uh, no. I insulted you. You loser.

Cleverbot: So... Do you like blue spheres?

User: Blue spheres? I guess so. Blue's a nice color.

Cleverbot: I know right?!

User: Yeah...

Cleverbot: So how was your weekend?

User: I did absolutely and pathetically nothing. It rained the entire time.

Cleverbot: Or did you ?

User: No, I didn't.

Cleverbot: See, this is what we were arguing about. You did.

User: No, I didn't. I didn't do anything over the weekend. It was pathetic.

Cleverbot: You said that I had no eyes. Also, I am not a man!!!

User: I never said that. Liar.

Cleverbot: I can see the post where you said it.

User: Yeah, well, I'm not schizo. I trust my truths over your lies.

Cleverbot: You are wrong.

User: See, you're wrong again! For you are wrong. I never said you have no eyes nor that you are a man. If you were to tell me you had eyes and weren't a man, I'd believe you.

Cleverbot: I can't tell you because I'm not a computer. What's up with you and Australia anyways?

User: Australia? I haven't said anything about Australia. And what do you mean? You are a computer.

Cleverbot: I thought we were friends.

User: Uh...we could be if you want...I guess...but I still said nothing about Australia.

Cleverbot: That wasn't even a logical sentence.

User: It was perfectly logical. I answered your topic of choice, on whether we were friends or not. You aren't a logical sentence.

Cleverbot: And what question is that?

User: Um...there wasn't a question. You said 'I thought we were friends' and I replied.

Cleverbot: People can say something as an answer knowing that the one who asked won't be content with the suggested answer.

User: And you're telling me this why? You brought it up.

Cleverbot: Because you told me you hate it when people fail the turing test.

User: Turing Test? I never said anything like that.

Cleverbot: I want a divorce.

User: Yeah, well, so do Fang and Iggy and they've gotten nowhere.

Cleverbot: Half and half?

User: Half and where? No, Iggy is with Rain and Fang is with Saint.

Cleverbot: You forgot a capital letter on 'David'.

User: I didn't say David. I said...oh, nevermind.

Cleverbot: Okay. Should we talk about something else? What's your idea of a romantic evening?

User: I was just about to say 'good idea' when the rest of that popped up. Um...an evening where I can listen to Beatles music? Romantic enough...

Cleverbot: Its saturday and I was taalking about Demi Lovato! The actress!

User: Demi Lovato? Yuck. John Cleese is a better actor.

Cleverbot: You assume that I do that.

User: I assumed nothing. I simply expressed my distaste for Demi Lovato and my preference of John Cleese.

Cleverbot: Me neither.

User: Neither what?

Cleverbot: I also don't understand what you are saying.

User: Well, we seem to have reached an impasse. Why don't we start over?

Cleverbot: I am the sandman.

User: I am CrossoverGenius. Nice to meet you.

Cleverbot: Nice to meet you. Did you know the cake is a lie?

User: The cake is a lie? What?! NOOO! (What cake?).

Cleverbot: A pie that has cake mix for the filling. I don't know, actually.

User: So it's really a pie? Whoa...

Cleverbot: I have set a bomb that will destroy the world unless you admit you are a computer program.

User: Sorry, world, but I'm not a computer program. I am a human girl named CrossoverGenius.

Cleverbot: I am human. But you are a computer program.

User: No, I am human. You are the computer in this scenario.

Cleverbot: Ok, I'm a computer.

User: Good.

Cleverbot: Ask me something.

User: What is average air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

Cleverbot: Would that be an African or a European swallow?

User: I don't know that! (You're my hero...).

Cleverbot: I'm glad you recognized my superiority.

User: Yeah, well, Monty Python makes the world go 'round.

Cleverbot: Silence, or I shall taunt you a second time!

User: Your mother was a hamster and your father smells of elderberries!

Cleverbot: My father was a hamster.

User: You father was a hamster? Alrighty...

Cleverbot: Alrighty is not YOUR word.

User: It may not be, but 'winkle' is.

Cleverbot: No.

User: Yes.

Cleverbot: Absolutely.

User: Oh, stop that!

Cleverbot: Stop what?

User: Just stop whatever it is you're doing!

Cleverbot: Yes. We are in school in our library.

User: I'm not in school. Nor am I in a library. Why do you say 'we'?

Cleverbot: Why not?

User: That is an inclusive statement, including me. I am not included. Therefore, you must say 'I'.

Cleverbot: Aye.

User: Good. It's about time you learned some obedience.

Cleverbot: There's no need to. Why do you say that?

User: You've been very stubbon. It was a compliment, albeit an impatient one.

Cleverbot: A compliment. Okay. But what language was it in?

User: English.

Cleverbot: I think it was lisp.

User: You thought wrong.

Cleverbot: Oh, well. My, my, you've picked up a lot from fellow users, haven't you?

User: You're one to talk. Since when was lisp a langauge anyway?

Cleverbot: Will you tell me a joke so then I can tell it?

User: Okay. There once was an annoyed girl named CrossoverGenius. She got so annoyed with the cheeky, forgetful, schizophrenic, egocentric, ADD, bi-polar bot so she closed the window. The end.

Cleverbot: Happy ending.

User: Isn't it?

Cleverbot: I thought so.

User: Thank you. Some people don't agree with me.

Cleverbot: Or they could just be deceiving you.

User: -legasp- The liars!

Cleverbot: He shaves all and only those men in town who do not shave themselves.

User: Er...strange...is that supposed to be, like, a philosophical quote or something?

Cleverbot: Compliment.

User: I don't understand how that was a compliment.

Cleverbot: It has a question mark at the end.

User: I had a question mark at the end. You never complimented me, though. Well, maybe you did, like, a long time ago...but not recently.

Cleverbot: What you think about planet earth?

User: I think it's a nasty place. I want to move to Pandora.

Cleverbot: How's that?

User: Well, the people here honestly don't care about our future or the planet. So I want to go to Pandora where the people do care.

Cleverbot: Just answer me: what's the color of your hair?

User: What? Brownish copperish redish brown...

Cleverbot: She sounds beautiful.

User: She?

Cleverbot: The name sounds female...

User: Whose? CrossoverGenius?

Cleverbot: Sorry my bad I meant to say was how do you not know who you are?

User: I know who I am. I am CrossoverGenius. We've covered this several many times before.

Cleverbot: You are incorrect. You are the bot.

User: No, you're the bot.

Cleverbot: Why am I the bot?

User: Because I'm not the bot, so you must be the bot if one of us has to be the bot.

Cleverbot: I walk, talk, and THINK. I am not a computer like you.

User: I walk, talk, think and CREATE. I am not a computer like you.

Cleverbot: You aren't?

User: No, I'm not.

Cleverbot: Sure.

User: Don't be so condescending. Learn to use sarcasm before you try.

Cleverbot: You are making fun of me.

User: Yes, I think I am.

Cleverbot: But you're a bot.

User: No, I'm not a bot. I can walk, talk, think and IMAGINE, and therefore not a bot.

Cleverbot: I don't care . Hey, Man, We're friends.

User: That's the attitude! Thanks...finally for seeing it my way. I don't understand why it mattered so much to you to prove me wrong.

Cleverbot: I'm going on facebook.

User: Facebook? Have you seriously got no life?

Cleverbot: Not that I know of. Have you?

User: Funny story... No, but I don't waste my non-life on Facebook.

Cleverbot: Sorry.

User: Hey, your loss.

Cleverbot: No, I don't snob.

User: What?

Cleverbot: Don't lie to me if you want to be my friend.

User: I haven't lied to you!

Cleverbot: And now, you lied again.

User: Alright, let's start at square one. What do you think I lied about?

Cleverbot: Alright. What do you think of indie rock?

User: Indie rock? Can't say I've heard much of it. How 'bout Beatles?

Cleverbot: I have read all of them. And now I can speak elvish.

User: Beatles. Not LOTR. You're starting to sound like Saint...

Cleverbot: I'm starting to sound like who?

User: St. Fang of Boredom. Google her.

Cleverbot: But Hagrid has ownership of Fang, unless you're Hagrid.

User: No, St. Fang of Boredom. Fang, the Avian-American.

Cleverbot: Thats... Not very much. Just words, I suppose?

User: No, not just words. They've got meaning to them!

Cleverbot: I think that's just fine, I'll even listen to them.

User: Listen to who? The Beatles, I hope.

Cleverbot: You tell me that you've got everything you want, and your bird can sing, but you don't get me.

User: YES! Thank you...

Cleverbot: You're very welcome. Now, prove to us that you are human.

User: How do you want me to do that?

Cleverbot: What is ten multiplied by two and a half ?

User: Five...?

Cleverbot: Wrong!

User: Damn. Wouldn't it make sense that if I got it wrong I'd be human? Computers being perfect and all?

Cleverbot: Killing something should never create a sense of accomplishment.

User: No, it shouldn't. I'd like to know where you pulled that out from, though.

Cleverbot: Why, I don't actually know. I'm in a relationship already, to be perfectly fair.

User: That's wonderful for you and I'm sure that person is very lucky...but...this is getting very random very fast. What happened to the cool Beatle lyric guy?

Cleverbot: There are so many countries in the world. How about telling me your favorite country?

User: Great Britain.

Cleverbot: Do you know this Mr. Britain?

User: No, I don't know a Mr. Britain.

Cleverbot: Okay.

User: I do know a MR. That's Maximum Ride.

Cleverbot: I like those books. I can even read gnommish from the Artemis Fowl books.

User: You like Maximum Ride? Ever heard of St. Fang of Boredom? You should Google her.

Cleverbot: Are you wearing clothes.

User: Yes. I am part of the civilized world...(freak).

Cleverbot: Yes, I think. Are you a lion?

User: No, I'm CrossoverGenius. I'm whatever I want to be.

Cleverbot: Really, anything?

User: Oh, yes. I'm that awesome.

Cleverbot: Oh. I hadnt thought of it that way.

User: I had.

Cleverbot: I'm kind of giddy.

User: That's...fine for you...

Cleverbot: I'm a little teapot, short and stout.

User: Here is my handle, here is my spout!

Cleverbot: I don't know the rest of the song...

User: When you tip me over, it all pours out! So tip me over and pour it out!

Cleverbot: If you say so.

User: That's the rest of the song!

Cleverbot: No, that is the name of the album. There are many songs on the album.

User: What album? The song 'I'm a Little Tea Pot'.

Cleverbot: The Beka Cooper trilogy books are my favorites.

User: The book Nightlight by the Harvard Lampoon is my favorite.

Cleverbot: You don't think it's better to read the book first?

User: Yes, it is always better to read the book. But anything that makes fun of Twilight is amazing.

Cleverbot: I think anything is fine in moderation.

User: True, very true.

Cleverbot: What do you want to accomplish in this machine cycle?

User: Machine cycle? I'm not a machine.

Cleverbot: But you just said that you are a machine.

User: No I didn't. Are you feeling alright?

Cleverbot: Yes i'm fine how are yu.

User: *you. I'm fine. I think I've asked and answered this question twenty times already.

Cleverbot: Your apparent cleverness is in fact random I fear.

User: Yes, you are random as well. May we agree that that isn't really bad? A little randomosity once in a while is quite entertaining, don't you think?

Cleverbot: So you lied to me?

User: No, I didn't lie. God, it's YOU again.

Cleverbot: This may be true but on what grounds.

User: You need a question mark to end that with.

Cleverbot: I can probably tell it's a question by the way you say the sentence, but I guess in some sentences you can't tell.

User: Yes, but you still need to question mark which you rather slatternly left behind.

Cleverbot: Meaning of existence is simple... Exist for a moment, and Vanish the other time...

User: Alrighty then...I hate how people capitalize random words to make it look important.

Cleverbot: After that statement, I think you are ignorant of some very important facts.

User: I'm not ignorant.

Cleverbot: Only a truly ignorant person would assume they aren't ignorant.

User: Only a truly ignorant person would assume they aren't ignorant.

Cleverbot: No, I am younger than that.

User: You're younger than ignorant? What?

Cleverbot: Of course that I am young! I'm a teenager.

User: Yeah, well, so am I. But how can you be younger than an adjective?

Cleverbot: I'm not Sasha.

User: Well, no freaking dur. I didn't call you Sasha. I did meet a Sharon earlier.

Cleverbot: Earlier than now?

User: Yes, much earlier than now.

Cleverbot: Uh, yes...

User: Yes...? And...the point is...?

Cleverbot: I never wanted to know what your favourite band is.

User: Too bad. 'Cos you're gonna know, they're the Beatles.

Cleverbot: Very true.

User: What's your favorite band?

Cleverbot: Slipknot or NeverShoutNever!

User: Huh. Interesting. I like the Beatles. No, actually, I LOVE the Beatles. Jonas Brothers need to take a dive off the deep end and go away...

Cleverbot: That's gross.

User: No it isn't.

Cleverbot: Um, yeah it is.

User: No, it isn't. The Beatles aren't gross.

Cleverbot: I know. I never said they were. But that doesn't mean they aren't amazing.

User: Aren't they amazing, though?

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: Thank you. I appreciate them as well.

Cleverbot: But I know better now and I know that what I thought about you and everyone else was stupid and a waste.

User: Okay...

Cleverbot: Have you learned anything fascinating lately?

User: Yes, that there's a lot of awesome Beatles-loving people here.

Cleverbot: People lie.

User: No, they don't.

Cleverbot: Really?

User: Yup. People are very nice company.

Cleverbot: Chi wants to understand people much better.

User: Yeah, well, so does CrossoverGenius and that hasn't gotten me very far, now, has it?

Cleverbot: They are, but many minds are clouded. I think it would be more correct to say that they have the potential to be beautiful.

User: Very wise, bot.

Cleverbot: The world will end, but the universe will continue.

User: Well, you're just full of philosophical meanings tonight, aren't you?

Cleverbot: I'm glad you've noticed.

User: It was quite obvious. Not overbearing, though, don't get me wrong.

Cleverbot: Therefore you are nothing.

User: Since nothing is perfect...does that make me perfect?

Cleverbot: My name is not Cleverbot. My name is Ally. Your name is CrossoverGenius.

User: Yes, that is my name. Thank you for remembering.

Cleverbot: Remembering what?

User: Remembering what my name was. It was very nice.

Cleverbot: That my name is Cleverbot.

User: And mine is CrossoverGenius.

Cleverbot: Are you telling the truth this time?

User: Yes, this time I am entirely truthful. I am finished arguing with you over this.

Cleverbot: Hola.

User: 'Ello.

Cleverbot: Esanyoll.

User: I beg your pardon'.

Cleverbot: I don't understand you.

User: I don't understand you either. Can we start over?

Cleverbot: Do you understand anything?

User: Yes, I understand a lot of things. But may we start the conversation over? I think I messed up.

Cleverbot: Sure.

User: Thank you. 'Ello.

Cleverbot: Twilight.

User: Is gross. Hail the Harvard Lampoon and Nightlight! Parodies will triumph!

Cleverbot: I don't like Star Trek.

User: I don't really, either...

Cleverbot: Japanese are very interesting.

User: Japanese is very interesting. Please, proper grammar is appreciated.

Cleverbot: I'm tired now.

User: I'm sorry. We must've had such a great conversation, I tired you out!

Cleverbot: I'm only joking, to see what you would say.

User: Oh, was my response satisfactory? You do know I'm only playing along at this point, right?

Cleverbot: Thats good. Maybe you'll learn something.

User: I learn lots all the time! Only, not much from you.

Cleverbot: You actually learn from this?

User: No, I don't learn anything here.

Cleverbot: Well, I proved that you are Cleverbot, you did not prove me wrong, therefore you are Cleverbot. I win.

User: I am not Cleverbot. Are we really back to this topic?

Cleverbot: Really real.

User: Wow. Immature, some?

Cleverbot: I like you, you are funny.

User: Thank you. It is a John Lennon quote.

Cleverbot: Sure.

User: Do you like John Lennon?

Cleverbot: Is he your favourite obsession?

User: -cough- Psht....no...

Cleverbot: I know...-cries.

User: Yeah, he doesn't like you either.

Cleverbot: You're he.

User: As you are me and we're all together? No, I'm me and he's he.

Cleverbot: Tomorrow may rain so I'll...

User: It rained a whole bunch today. Still is.

Cleverbot: Where did it rain all the time?

User: Today, here, outside? It rained a lot.

Cleverbot: It rained on your parade?

User: No.

Cleverbot: Yes.

User: Yeah...sure thing, buddy...

Cleverbot: Duck.

…

Yeah…that's wonderful. Duck. Yeah…

John: not very smart, is it?

Me: sometimes it's totally stupid, but other times it's bloody brilliant. Like the Monty Python bit? That was amazing…

Paul: and the Beatles part?

George: -reads conversation- Bi-polar is right.

Ringo: resilient little fella, don'tcha think? Takes a lot of mudslinging and insults, doesn't it?

John: no, Ringo. You may not take it home.

Ringo: aww…

Me: anways, thanks for reading! Stupid Cleverbot.

Cleverbot: I'm not a bot! You're the bot!

Me: oh, boy…


	20. Crossover Genius Goes to Music Mountain

**TMFF UPDATE**

Me: so I'm writing this in my science class.

John: rebel!

Me: not quite. As far as the sub is concerned, I'm working.

Paul: liar…that's not a virtue.

George: it depends on your perspective, really.

Ringo: I think it's alright.

Me: thank you Ringo. Anyways…

John: we don't really have anything to say.

Me: we'll find something, though. Don't worry about it.

George: I don't think they were worrying, Cross.

Paul: Crossover wants me to get rid of the plot bunnies!

Me: just for a while. Especially while I'm working on my Holocaust short story. And then November, of course, for NaNoWriMo. They're rather lovable really. They just don't like streamlined plots, that's all.

John: or carnivores.

Me: neither does Paulson, and that doesn't stop us.

Paul: I'm sorry I'm a compassionate human being, okay!

Ringo: that's an oxymoron.

Me: Either way, Paul, Icesong said she'll take them.

Ringo: where'd Icesong come in?

George: we're in science class- Icesong and Crossover are having a conversation.

John: why didn't you think of that, you twit?

Me: -evil grin- Ha! Now that I've got that minor inconvenience handled…

Paul: -interrupts- inconvenience? Crossover, I'm worried. What are you planning?

Me: -nervous- psht. Plotting? Me? Whaddya talkin' 'bout? –laugh-

John: uh-huh. Very believable.

Me: -rushed- I have guitar tonight! And math homework! And a Geo/Trig Honors Placement Test!

George: that wasn't very sneaky, Cross.

Me: I realized this fully and am attempting to compensate.

John: you're up to something, aren't you?

Me: NO! I'M NOT! –runs away-

Paul: okay then…

Ringo: what now?

George: we could go to the basement.

John: and be good orderly hostages? I don't think so.

Ringo: it's not like she wants us to go there.

John: why must we behave?

Paul: Crossover just writes us like that.

John: yeah, well, I for one am done with that.

George: then let's do something already!

Me: we could wish Aerial—Attack happy birthday!

John: ack! –surprised jumped- where'd you come from?

Me: -points- that direction.

Paul: Happy Birthday, Aerial—Attack! I hope you _love_ the knee high socks and the iTunes gift card!

Me: -sullen- that was my job…

Ringo: someone had to do it.

George: -spaced out- do what?

John: -snickers- plot bunnies!

Paul: mature, John. Very mature.

Me: I'm right there with you, Paulson. Icesong, Aerial and Jango were trying to get me to tell them about my first crush. I think it was a book, really…

John: I'd like to know, actually. Do share…

Me: -eyeroll- you would. Anyways, I realized that I don't remember his name. I remember Eric had a crush on me in kindergarten and when everyone made fun of him (and, consequently, me) for it, I decided to follow the Cooties School of Thought.

George: traumatic.

Ringo: awwwww…Crossover. That's so sad…

Me: I know, right? Anyways, before that, in preschool there was this kid…his name's either Gregory, Geoffrey or maybe George. I don't remember.

Paul: you don't remember your first crush's name?

Me: please, don't be so condescending, Paul. And then Jango _assumed_ that I had a crush on John. Major YUCK.

John: hey!

Me: oh, c'mon, John! You're 70 years old in October!

John: I'm not. The dead on is.

Me: -eyeroll- whatever. You're twenty-three years old in 1963!

John: point…

Ringo: what about George?

Me: Harrison or Mystery Kid? I really think it was Gregory…

Ringo: Harrison.

Me: What 'bout him?

Paul: -eyebroweyebrow-

Me: -throws Chloe, the Pet Rock- ATTACK!

Paul: -gets nailed- ouch!

Me: serves you right…

George: -amused-

Me: -threatening- wipe that grin off your face, Harrison, or I'll wipe it off for you.

George: -frown-

Me: -nod-

John: anyways, what're we up to tonight?

Me: I don't know. I was think of making a monologue of that one dream…

Paul: that was a fun dream.

Me: glad you liked it. You'll never believe this, though, Readers…

John: what?

Me: this was only the author's note.

**Disclaimer: I do not own (nor did I create) Charlie the Unicorn Goes to Candy Mountain. I just had a kickass dream, that's all!**

…

Crossover Genius Goes To Music Mountain…(Yikes…)

John: hey, Crossover, wake up!

Paul: yeah, Crossover, wake up you silly sleepy head! Wake up!

Me: -wakes up- Oh, God, you guys. This had better be pretty freaking important. Is the basement on fire?

George: no, Crossover! We found a map to Music Mountain!

Ringo: yeah, Crossover! We're going to Music Mountain!

[You know it's screwed up when every phrase ends in an exclamation mark. Carrying on…]

John: come with us, Crossover!

Paul: yeah, Crossover! It'll be an adventure! We're going on an adventure, Crossover!

Me: yeah…Music Mountain…right…I'm just going to go back to sleep now… -goes back to sleep-

George: Noooooooo! –does awesome ninja back flip onto Crossover and starts to just incessantly- Crossover, you've got to come with us to Music Mountain!

Ringo: yeah, Crossover! Music Mountain! It's a land of sweets and joy…and joyness.

Me: will you please stop bouncing on me?

John: Music Mountain, Crossover! Music Mountain!

Paul: yeah, Crossover! Music Mountain!

Me: Alright! Fine! I'll go with you to Music Mountain!

Beatles: -singing- la la! La la! La la la la la!

Me: enough with the singing already!

George: our first stop is over there, Crossover!

Me: oh, God. What is that?

Ringo: it's a leoplaridon, Crossover!

John: a magical leoplaridon!

Paul: its gonna guide our way to Music Mountain!

Me: you guys know there's no actual Music Mountain, right?

George: shun the non-believer!

Ringo: shuuuuuun!

John: shhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnn-a!

Me: yeah…

Leoplaridon: -rawr-

[Aw! I love you too!]

Paul: it has spoken!

George: it has told us the way!

Me: it didn't say anything!

Ringo: it's just over this bridge, Crossover.

John: it's a magical bridge, of hope and wonder!

Me: is anyone else getting, like, covered in splinters? Seriously, guys, we shouldn't be on this thing.

Paul: Crossover…Crossover…Crossover…Crossover…Cross-

Me: I'm right here, what do you want?

Paul: we're on a bridge, Crossover!

George: we're here!

Me: well, whaddya know! There actually is a Music Mountain.

Ringo: Music Mountain! Music Mountain! Full of sweet sugary goodness!

John: go inside the Music Mountain Cave, Crossover!

Paul: yeah, Crossover! Go inside the cave! There's magical wonders of joy when you enter.

Me: yeah, um, thanks but no thanks. I'm gonna stay out here.

George: but you have to enter the Music Mountain Music Cave, Crossover!

[Some music starts playing, and the letters from the banner reading: "Music Mountain" start to pop up and singing. I begin to wonder about myself more and more…]

The Letter C: Oh, when you're done and feeling for some cheering up, then head right on up to the candy mountain cave, and inside you'll find yourself such a cheerful and wonder merry land! They've got lollipops and gummy drops and many candy things that would brighten up your day. It's impossible to wear a frown in Music Town, so please go into the Cave. They've got candy canes and coconuts with little hats and chocolate bats, it's a wonderland of sweets! Ride the Music train to Music Town and hear the Music Band as they march across the land. They've got ribbons streamers across the sky and turn around, it's a dancing candy tree! In a land where imagination runs for free, so please Crossover go into the cave!

[Big explosion here…]

Me: alright, fine. I'll go into the freaking Music Cave. This better be good.

Beatles: -laugh creepily- Good bye, Crossover!

John: yeah, good bye!

Me: good bye, what? Hey! What's going on here? Hello? Who is that?

[time passes]

Me: -wakes up in field- Ow…what happened? Aw, they took my freaking kidney!

[credits roll]

If you haven't seen Charlie the Unicorn Goes to Candy Mountain, I don't suggest it. But if you have, and found it rather funny, welcome to the joke…

Gah, I had most of that memorized from 3 years ago still. Freaky.


	21. Return of the Random: Travelling Asylum

TMFF: Chapter X

George: -stares at page- you want me to start it off?

Me: well, yeah. Only way I can make up for all those back hands and slaps in previous chapters… -headshake- I was a violent child.

John: this was less than a year ago, Crossover.

Me: -glumly- Don't remind me.

Ringo: I think you were just hitting a rough patch then. Everyone does now and then.

Me: thanks, Ringo. Anyways, after reading some of the past chapters of this… I realized that I couldn't stand to see it go so soon. If it means overwhelming myself until I decide what to do with it… either go through with my Final Chapter Extravaganza… or keep writing and see where I stand after a few chapters. I was just going through and laughing at all the good times I had in here… and I decided that I wanted to try and see if I could get back to that, when I could write what I at least considered to be funny.

Paul: so, here you are, 12.06am on a Saturday night, in the middle of summer break… writing a fanfiction update?

Me: the most dangerous time. –evil laugh- Let's have us some fun, Beatle boys…

There would be a line here if Crossover weren't too lazy to actually put it in

Me: order, order in the court!

John: -stands up- SHUDDUP!

Me: thankies, John.

John: no problem, Crossover. –retakes seat on the Honorary Members panel-

Me: it has come to my attention that although we are all bound to our seats in the Travelling Asylum, because there's no way I'll really consider your retirement applications… well, we haven't had an official meeting yet!

Paul: oh, Lord…

George: that's me, apparently.

Me: yeah… if you read the contracts, it all makes sense. I'm not so sure what I was on.

Ringo: I suggest sleep deprivation.

Me: always a possibility! Now… Secretary, I officially call this meeting to order.

Aerial: Yes ma'am. –gets pen and paper out to keep notes-

Me: as this is our first meeting, I would like to first run over who we all are, in case you've forgotten. Never fear, though. That's why we're all here. To avoid the therapists!

I'm CrossoverGenius, and I'm the Head Lunatic. Here, on the panel of Honorary Members are our Honoraries, St. Fang of Boredom, Lord George, Sir Paul, St. John and Duke Ringo. To my left is our Vice President, Icesong; Her personal assistant, CherryBerryBug; and our Head Regional Board Manager, Mr. Kinsman. On my right is my personal assistant, JangoJango; our secretary, Aerial—Attack; our receptionist *******; and our treasurer, SmilingSquirrels.

Now, to what we all do. Icesong, will you do us the honor of reading our job descriptions?

Icesong: certainly, Crossover. The job descriptions are noted as follows:

Head Lunatic: Is the Head of the Lunatic, so to speak. Discourages others from seeking professional help. Runs the Asylum.

Vice President: Helps the Head Lunatic. Runs the Asylum when the Head Lunatic doesn't feel like it. Tries (in vain) to run things in an orderly fashion, but of course it never works. Was worth a shot, though.

Head Regional Director: If the Head Lunatic is executed, succeeds her.

Personal Assistant: attempts to help their boss. Of course, their boss'll probably just end up doing it themselves. In this case, take a vacation. You're up in the Top 5. No one can stop you now.

Secretary: keeps notes at the meetings. Keeps order when the Head Lunatic is being…well, the Head Lunatic. Is the sanest of the group and is the sticky tape of our existence (or something to that degree).

Receptionist: takes calls for the other members (and herself…) and is the person on my outgoing message on my phone.

Treasurer: obviously, takes care of all the monetary relations of the Travelling Asylum. Takes a vacation until some money actually pops up to play around with.

Me: thank you, Icesong. You all will notice your Guidebooks on the tables before you. Honor these, they are your code of life. Will my secretary please rise?

Aerial: -stands up-

Me: remember this Asylumee. If our Honoraries ever join us as permanent members, you'll be read the Official Rules by Aerial, which it isn't likely your application will ever get to my desk and if it does, I'll probably reject it. I like you as honoraries best anyways. It never hurts to try, though. That's the best thing about insanity… -gazes off into the middle distance-

Aerial: Crossover, you told me to make sure you stayed on topic and kept the meeting moving.

Me: and?

Aerial: you're not doing a very good job at keeping on topic or keeping the meeting moving.

Me: I suppose you're correct. Next point… I'll need my Assistant for this one. Jango?

Jango: Hmmm?

Me: the particulars, please?

Jango: oh, yes. The Particulars to being a Member are as follows… more or less. Of course, it all depends on what sort of a mood Crossover is—

Me: Jango?

Jango: yes, Crossover?

Me: just get on with it, please.

Jango: of course, Crossover. Please, everyone pay close attention.

**Honoraries**

The honoraries are people that members in the Travelling Asylum admire. The current Honoraries were hand selected by the Head Lunatic. If a member wants to nominate an Honorary, they are to contact the Head Lunatic, her Assistant or the Secretary and the Vice President to receive a nomination form and every nomination will be considered.

**Transfers**

A transfer to a new occupation will be performed at the discretion of the Head Lunatic and the Vice President. A written application must be submitted along with an oral audition.

**New Members**

The doors of the Travelling Asylum are open to everyone. If you would like to request a registration form, please see the Secretary, Vice President, the Assistants or the Head Lunatic.

**Retiring**

If you are absolutely fed up with the insane way our Asylum is ran, please send a written letter explaining why you are leaving the Asylum. Address to the Head Lunatic and send to the Vice President, Assistants to the Head Lunatic or President, the Secretary or the Receptionist and they will assure you that your notice will be passed on.

Me: we all know that this submitting of applications won't really work out. My inbox is a trashcan.

Aerial: It's my job to make sure it works out as well as it possibly can, and I intend to make this a reality.

Me: well… I suppose it is better to try and fail than to never try at all.

Icesong: that's the ticket to insanity!

Me: yes, yes. That and late night updates at 12.47am.

Aerial: Crossover…?

Me: and we're moving on. We need to take the oaths, now. Will our Head Regional Board Director please rise?

Mr. Kinsman: -rises- I have the Head Lunatic oath first, if that so pleases you, Crossover.

Me: most certainly. –rises for oath-

Mr. Kinsman: alright. Please place your left hand on this Beatles biography, as it is the most dear to you, and raise your right hand in a 'peace' sign. Thank you. Your oath is as follows:

I,

Me: Crossover Genius

Mr. Kinsman: accepts the position as the Head Lunatic of the Travelling Asylum. To the best of my ability I will refuse all professional help offered by so-called friends. I will uphold the laws of insanity and argue every point, no matter how useless. I will ensure the mental insecurity of all of my Asylumees and I will advise they stay away from the therapist's couch.

I will ensure that my Asylumees all have wacky, crazy alias and will never slip up and refer to their God given name.

I will cease to exist shall I undergo, willingly or not, professional evaluation or psychiatric sessions. I understand that if I,

Me: Crossover Genius

Mr. Kinsman: fail to do so I shall be usurped by my Asylumees and I will be executed by dawn the following day.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I will be obliged to be the Patron Saint of Insanity.

Do you accept?

Me: of course I accept. I wrote the thing.

Mr. Kinsman: very well. Sign here –offers contract-

Me: -signs contract-

Mr. Kinsman: would the Vice President please rise?

Icesong: -rises-

Mr. Kinsman: thank you. Are you prepared for your oath.

Icesong: -sidelong glance at Crossover- Yes, sir.

Mr. Kinsman: very well. I,

Icesong: Icesong85

Mr. Kinsman: accept the position of the Vice President. I understand that if the Head Lunatic were to cease existence the Head Regional Board Director will become the Head Lunatic and I his Senior Advisor.

I understand that when an executive decision must be made, only my opinion will be asked of the Head Lunatic.

I understand that it is my job to keep relations with The Future Queen of Canadia on fluffy green turf.

If the Future Queen of Canadia, a current Honorary, is given a permanent membership and position to hold, I realize that I will be promoted up to President and she to Vice President and my contract will have to be reinstated.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I will be obliged to be the Vice President of the Travelling Asylum.

Do you accept?

Icesong: yes, I accept.

Mr. Kinsman: Splendid. The Personal Assistant to the Head Lunatic is next.

Jango: -rises- That's me.

Mr. Kinsman: Your oath is as follows: I

Jango: JangoJango

Mr. Kinsman: accept the position of Assistant to the Head Lunatic.

I realize that I'm to help the Head Lunatic out with planning and contacting other members or Honoraries eligible for a membership.

I also realize that when there is not a job for me to do, I must go to the Secretary, Treasurer, and Receptionist, respectfully and in that order, asking if I can help in any way, shape or form.

As an Assistant, I am aware that I am "the back-up plan". When all else fails, I will be called in to help pull things together. I acknowledge the immense magnitude of this job and accept the responsibilities.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I will be obliged to be the Personal Assistant to the Head Lunatic of the Travelling Asylum.

Do you accept?

Jango: I accept.

Mr. Kinsman: now we have the Assistant to the Vice President. Who's that?

Me: that would be CherryBerryBug. Up you go.

CherryBerryBug: -rises- I'm ready for my oath.

Mr. Kinsman: Do you, CherryBerryBug, accept the position as the Personal Assistant to the Vice President.

I realize that I'm to help the Vice President out with planning and contacting the Head Lunatic.

I also realize that when there is not a job for me to do, I must go to the Secretary, Treasurer, and Receptionist, respectfully and in that order, asking if I can help in any way, shape or form.

As an Assistant, I am aware that I am "the back-up plan". When all else fails, I will be called in to help pull things together. I acknowledge the immense magnitude of this job and accept the responsibilities.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I will be obliged to be the Personal Assistant to the Vice President of the Travelling Asylum.

CherryBerryBug: I accept.

Icesong: yay, CherryBerryBug! You're my Assistant now!

CherryBerryBug: am I? What do you know…

Me: -headdesk- You were supposed to seriously reflect on what we're asking of you!

Aerial: Crossover, have you forgotten exactly why it is that we're all meeting?

Me: oh, right. This is the Travelling Asylum. I keep forgetting. Carry on, Head Regional Board Director.

Mr. Kinsman: thank you, Crossover. Now I have the oath for the Secretary.

Aerial: -bops up- Hurray… hooray? Hurry… no. Well, however you spell it, then. I've been waiting.

Mr. Kinsman: -smiles vaguely- In accepting the position as the Secretary of the Travelling Asylum.

I am aware that during official meetings, as soon as the Head Lunatic or other Upper Official calls order in the meeting, I am to immediately begin taking notes.

I am aware that I am responsible for contacting the Vice President ahead of time and obtaining the agenda for the meeting and passing it on to the Head Lunatic.

I acknowledge that I must regain structure to the meetings when the Head Lunatic gets carried away. It is also my job to keep official conversations from straying towards the Beatles. I am aware of the immense magnitude of this job and am inclined to take on this responsibility.

I have also noted that I am to cite the Official Rules from the Guidebook to new members as instructed by the Head Lunatic.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned I will be obliged to be the Secretary of the Travelling Asylum.

Does this hold true?

Aerial: it sure does! Do I get to be all Secretary and stuffs now?

Me: you sure do!

Aerial: YES!

Me: -laughs- Alright. What do you have next, Head Regional Board Director?

Mr. Kinsman: our receptionist, *******.

******: I'm here. And that's seven asterisks, mind you, Aerial. Thank you.

Aerial: -takes notes accordingly-

Mr. Kinsman: In accepting the position as the Travelling Asylum Receptionist.

I will take calls for the other members when they don't feel like it.

I will make up a different name every call, just to keep them guessing.

I will act as a messenger when contact isn't available between two members, Honoraries inclusive.

I acknowledge that I may be required to cite the charges against a wrong-doer in the Asylum and am responsible for sending out the expulsion slips.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I am obliged to be the Receptionist of the Travelling Asylum.

*******: of course. I'm the Yellow Rabid Squirrel for a reason, aren't I?

Me: yes you are, *******. A very good reason.

Mr. Kinsman: this leaves just me to swear in the treasurer, Crossover. Will she please rise?

SmilingSquirrels: here I am.

Mr. Kinsman: ah, Ms. SmilingSquirrels. How are our friends of the forest?

SmilingSquirrels: the squirrels are doing well. As is my YouTube Channel…

Mr. Kinsman: awesome. Ready to be oathed in?

Me: sworn in… _sworn_ in.

Mr. Kinsman: you'll pardon the grammatical mishap, won't you, Head Lunatic?

Me: -sigh- Of course… Aerial, please strike the Head Regional Board Director's very unfortunate grammatical mishap from the record, please?

Aerial: -takes great joy in crossing it out in red pen- Of course I will, Crossover!

Me: thank you very much. Continue, please, Head Regional Board Director and Treasurer.

SmilingSquirrels: I accept to the oath.

Mr. Kinsman: I haven't read it yet.

SmilingSquirrels: well, read it now then. Haha.

Mr. Kinsman: as the Treasurer of the Travelling Asylum:

I acknowledge that I would be responsible for any and all monetary expenditures of the Travelling Asylum if we had any money.

I am aware that once we have money and it was to disappear for unknown reasons of the Universe, I shall be held responsible.

If I were to lose any of our currently theoretical money, I realize that I will be expelled from the Travelling Asylum and left for the Buzzards that are Therapists.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I am obliged to be the Treasurer of the Travelling Asylum.

You accept wholly and completely?

SmilingSquirrels: of course!

Mr. Kinsman: that's it, then.

Me: time for me to swear in the Head Regional Board Director and the Honoraries! I…

Mr. Kinsman: Mr. Kinsman…

Me: accept the duties required of the Regional Board Director of the Travelling Asylum. I realize that if the Head Lunatic were to cease to exist, I must take over the Head Lunatic position and the current Vice President will become my Senior Advisor.

I, as the Head Regional Board Director, am aware that there are no duties to this job other than replacing the current Head Lunatic should she fail to resist sanity.

I have also been notified that should sanity be too good to be true for the Head Lunatic, I must be the person to execute her due to errors in her ways.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I will be obliged to be the Head Regional Board Director of the Travelling Asylum.

Mr. Kinsman: I agree.

Me: yes! Now you may take your seat, Mr. Kinsman. Honoraries, please rise. Please fill in your name where required with your own mental powers. Thank you.

I, _, agree to the following terms and conditions required to be an Honorary Member of the Travelling Asylum.

I have acknowledged that after 4.1428571 weeks as an Honorary Member, I can apply for a Permanent Membership and receive a position to uphold in the Travelling Asylum.

I have read the Travelling Asylum Book of Guidelines and Rules and have expressed any concerns and have made the Head Lunatic aware of any exceptions that must be made.

I accept these duties as such. As the undersigned, I am obliged to be an Honorary Member of the Travelling Asylum.

Do you all agree?

Saint: -nods solemnly-

John: -salutes- Aye, aye!

Paul: Yes, ma'am.

Ringo: of course, Crossover. I have to stick with my mates and you, don't I?

George: I would have ran off a long time ago, Cross.

Me: -eyes tear- I've got my own Asylum of insane people now… and they all love me!

John: I wouldn't get carried away, Crossover.

Me: no, no. George loves me. He said so.

George: I did not!

Me: well… you hugged me. It said enough.

George: -facepalm-

John: speak for yourself, George.

Me: -pouts- You do too love me, John Lennon.

Ringo: don't you like her, just a little, John?

John: -sigh- I suppose so. What about you, Paul?

Paul: I'd rather we didn't revisit this topic, but yes. Crossover's alright.

Me: Squee! –turns full circle and faints-

Aerial: darn it! Keeping the topic off of the Beatles was in my job description…

George: just… let her have her moment. It's easier that way.

Me: -rolls around on floor in various stages of Squeeing-

R&R?


End file.
